


stockholm syndrome

by nezumiprefersdanielleovershakespeare



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-09 09:01:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 130,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11665905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezumiprefersdanielleovershakespeare/pseuds/nezumiprefersdanielleovershakespeare
Summary: Shion is from the Gold District, an affluent community built on the backs of the residents of the poverty-stricken border areas where Nezumi is from. Nezumi joins the Resistance Force, a group determined to reverse the inequalities between the privileged residents of the Gold District and the suffering inhabitants of the border areas. In the Resistance Force, Nezumi's newest responsibility is housing an unruly hostage taken from the Gold District - and his hostage is, of course, Shion.





	1. Chapter 1

_“Captive number four is being particularly difficult and refusing to eat. She has rallied the other captives to participate in her hunger strike. We are certain nothing more will come out of this, and will no longer be allowing the captives an hour out of their separate cells for group time each day to prevent any subsequent corroboration for disobedience. No further update. Over.”_

            Shion switched off the walkie talkie he’d swiped off the desk of a guard who’d gone on her lunch break. He stood up and paced the small broom closet where he’d been residing for the previous twenty-four hours since he’d broken into the compound and begun his surveillance, leading him to the stolen walkie talkie the night before – the best he might have hoped for. He had spent the previous night and all morning scoping out the compound as well as listening to the walkie talkie whenever he was certain he was out of earshot of anyone else, and had learned several important things:

  1. Safu was kept in a cell at the bottom floor, as were the three other citizens who had been taken hostage from the Gold District in the previous month.
  2. Twelve guards worked within the compound, carrying out various jobs of surveillance, feeding and watching the hostages, and guarding the general unit.
  3. The cameras within the compound as well as those surrounding the outside perimeter had been switched off twelve hours before Shion’s break-in. Shion had known this previous to breaking in – the compromised surveillance system within the compound had been broadcasted on the news in the Gold District, news castors informing citizens that this was a sign of hope that the hostages were being rescued. Rather than having hope and sitting around waiting for someone else to get Safu out, Shion had seized the opportunity to break into the compound himself. What Shion had learned from within the compound, thanks to his new walkie talkie, was that a man in the Resistance Force who usually headed the Citizen Seizing Unit had been called to fix the cameras. Apparently, alongside kidnapping, this man’s strengths lay in fixing technology. Shion knew nothing about him but that his voice was cool and low when it came through the walkie talkie, which was rarely, and had thus far only been in one word confirmations or negations of the questions being asked of him. This man was arriving at the compound in six hours. His name was Nezumi.



            The conclusion of these facts was that Shion had just six hours to get to the lowest floor of the compound, free Safu and the other hostages, and get them out before his presence became known to the guards.

            Shion stopped pacing. He’d broken into the compound at five in the morning the previous day, and it was now nearly noon. He hadn’t eaten, but his stomach was too clenched for hunger. A whirring had filled his chest since Safu had been taken a week before, her face plastered on the news alongside the previous three captured citizens just a few hours after Shion had left her apartment.

            Shion could guess that this camera-fixer, this Nezumi who also headed the Citizen Seizure Unit, had been involved in Safu’s capture. Shion wanted revenge, and it was an odd feeling, an unfamiliar livewire sensation that burned just under his skin, but there wasn’t time to acknowledge it. He had to get Safu, and get the others, and get out.

            He lowered himself beside a bright yellow janitor cart and began to draft a plan within his head, switching on the walkie talkie every once in a while to try to catch another update.

*

Nezumi despised the idiots who guarded the hostages.

            He preferred to avoid the compound altogether, and was generally successful in doing so. It didn’t surprise him that what was surely a slight electrical malfunction had everyone losing their minds and demanding he come in to fix the camera security system as soon as possible.

            Nezumi parked in a slot beside the entrance, ignoring the sign reserving it for _Guards Only._ He slid his key card at the door, watched the light turn green, and let himself in, taking the stairs to the third floor. He was on the second floor when it hit him as peculiar that there hadn’t been guards stationed by the entrance. He stopped on the stairs, considered backtracking and checking the bottom floor first to see that all was right with the hostages.

            He looked down the flights of stairs. He wasn’t the biggest fan of unnecessary effort, and pulled his walkie talkie from the clip on his waistband, lifting it to his lips and turning it on.

            “It’s Nezumi, just got into the compound. Anyone got a good reason for the lack of guards at Entrance A? Over.”

            He had to wait a few seconds, and then there was a voice cutting in.

            _“It’s Hansuke’s birthday. We’re having cake in the break room on the second floor. The captives have been checked and are secure, don’t worry. You should come down when you’re done fixing the cameras, we’ll save a slice for you. Any word on how long fixing the cameras might take, by the way? Over.”_

            Nezumi didn’t recognize the voice that spoke to him, but he didn’t know most of the guards. He turned off his walkie talkie and clipped it back on his waistband. He wasn’t supposed to turn it off, but there was too much chatter on the thing, and it wasn’t his responsibility to respond to emergencies anyway.

            Nezumi had been picked out of his debilitated city slum dwelling by the Resistance Force who’d heard it from word of mouth that he might be useful to their movement one month before. It was his job to kidnap citizens of the Gold District and drop them off at the compound. It was not in his job description to fix broken camera systems, but here he was, dealing with the shit the idiots who guarded the place couldn’t take care of themselves.

            “A birthday party,” Nezumi muttered, shaking his head as he climbed the rest of the stairs to the third floor, let himself out of the staircase, and walked down the hall to the power control station.

            Inside, he looked over the darkened video screens that were meant to show the feed of each camera around the compound. He tried turning the main signal on and off, not putting it past the guards to have foregone the easiest solution in their attempts to fix it. When that didn’t work, Nezumi settled down, tied his hair up, stole a pretzel from a bag of pretzel sticks sitting next to the monitor, and got to work.

*

Shion wished Nezumi had replied back with how long he would take to fix the cameras, but other than that, he was feeling pretty good.

            Freeing the hostages, he’d discovered, was pretty simple after he’d found a spare guard’s uniform shoved on the bottom shelf of the broom closet. Having a walkie talkie helped with the façade, and he was able to walk the halls hidden in plain sight.

            The only tricky parts were getting a key card, which opened all doors in the compound including the cells, and getting the guards away from the hostages and at least one exit.

            “You really just told them all there was a birthday party in the break room?” Safu asked, after she’d insisted several times that she was perfectly all right, just a little hungry.

            Shion squeezed her hand as they slipped into the staircase to head up to the main floor. He glanced at his friend as he found himself doing every few seconds to check that she was really okay.

            She didn’t seem hurt. She mostly looked tired, her hair a little greasy, her cheeks sallow and the skin under her eyes dark. But her eyes themselves were sharp, focused, and when she squeezed Shion’s hand back her grip was firm.

            “People like birthdays. I realized there are three groups of guards – ”

            “General guards do entryway and exits and compound patrol, surveillance guards are usually in the power control room when the cameras are up, and the hostage guards look after the captives. Aka, us,” Safu interrupted.

            “Exactly. And the walkie talkie has several stations. The main one just contacts everyone in the Resistance Force, but then there’s another station for just the compound guards, and then there’s separate stations for each group of guards within the compound. I spoke with each group separately telling them it was their turn to head to the break room for birthday cake,” Shion said, leading the hostages he’d freed out the stairway and onto the main floor, where the front entrance was located.

            It was not as hidden as a back entrance, but the back entrance was placed farthest from where the hostages were kept, and Shion was most concerned with getting everyone out as quickly as possible.

            “Once they get to the break room, they’ll realize everyone is there, and no one is watching us.”

            “I sent them to different break rooms,” Shion said.

            “How did you know how many break rooms there were? And all this about the guards?”

            “I’ve been here for a day. I spent yesterday memorizing the layout of the building and the schedule and groupings of the guards.”

            “You’re amazing, Shion.”

            Shion stopped running. They were outside now, on the overgrown grass that surrounded the compound building. Shion looked at Safu squarely, and she looked back. Her eyes were wide and pink, but her focus was full on Shion.

            “You’re the amazing one, for surviving in here,” Shion said, before turning to the rest of the hostages. He knew one other citizen, a frequent customer at his mother’s bakery, but the other two he only recognized from their faces on the news.

            It’d been a month, since citizens of the Gold District had begun being taken by the Resistance Force. Shion could see from the weariness over different faces who were the citizens who’d been away from home the longest.

            “Everyone, please listen. I don’t know how long it will take for the guards to realize you’re all gone, so we’re going to have to start sprinting as fast as we can. I know a lot of you don’t have much strength, but please use what ability you have to keep up. I have my mom’s delivery truck hidden in the bushes a little way from the gate around the perimeter of the compound. Just follow me, I’ll take you to it, and everyone can fit. It’s unlocked, so if someone gets there before me, just go inside. The keys are on the front seat, but don’t leave until everyone is there. We’re all going at once, okay?”

            The other three hostages nodded, and Shion turned the volume of the walkie talkie all the way up, then started running again. Safu’s hand was still in his; Shion didn’t plan on ever letting go of it.

            They were almost to the gate surrounding the compound when a voice buzzed from the walkie talkie.

            _“All right, where the fuck is the birthday cake? Over.”_

            _“Is that Junko? Group B is getting cake now, you’re supposed to be covering us at the entrances. Over.”_

_“Covering you? You’re supposed to be covering us. Over.”_

_“Group B? What are you guys talking about, Group A was just contacted – Where are you guys? Over.”_

_“Wait a second, wait a second. Does anyone have cake? Over.”_

_“Hey. Are you idiots done talking about cake? I got an update you might be interested in. Over.”_

_“Is that Nezumi? What’s going on? Over.”_

_“Cameras are back on, and your captives are fleeing. And it doesn’t look like there’s cake in the entire compound, from what I can see. Over.”_

_“What? Is that a joke?”_

_“Someone get down to the captives right now!”_

_“Nezumi, where are they?”_

The voices were cutting in and out of the feed so fast Shion was having a hard time discerning them. He was tempted to just turn the walkie talkie off, but he needed to stay updated.

            _“Running to the gate ahead of the main entrance. A few yards away from sweet freedom, looks like.”_

_“I’m at a window! I’ve got eyes on them! Saya, do I have permission to shoot? Over.”_

Shion tripped, but Safu pulled him forward, her voice breathless when she spoke. “Stop listening to that, they won’t hurt us. They didn’t hurt anyone, even Asako, and she’s been here the longest. It’s all empty threats, you just have to – ”

            _“Permission granted! Over.”_

The gunshot was loud and unmistakable, ringing out just as Shion and Safu reached the gate. Shion stared down at the thick padlock, realizing that they were stuck.

            “Was that a gunshot?” a woman asked, the oldest of the group of captives Shion had freed – but he hadn’t freed them, he’d only put them in more danger. He stared at the padlocked gate and felt as if ice was coating his insides.

            There was another gunshot. The bullet hit the grass a foot away from Safu, who shouted and jumped against Shion.

            Shion grabbed her hand tight. Lifted the walkie talkie in his other hand and pressed it to his lips.

            “My name is Shion, I’m from the Gold District, and I freed the hostages. Stop shooting, we’re not going to run, just stop shooting. Over.”

            _“Shion? None of the captives are named Shion. Over.”_

            There was another gunshot, and one of the hostages beside Shion screamed.

            “Stop shooting!” Shion shouted into the walkie talkie.

            _“Ryota, stop shooting. Over.”_

_“Copy that, Saya. Over.”_

            Shion touched the padlock. It was cool, solid. He leaned his head forward, against the hard mesh of the gate.

            _“I need all guards to keep the lines cleared. Shion, hello. My name is Saya. Would you do me a favor of turning to face the compound and raising your hand? I promise, no one will shoot you. Over.”_

            “Why is she asking that?” Safu asked.

            “Don’t do it,” another hostage said. He and the other hostages – with the exception of Safu – were sitting on the grass against the fence.  

            Shion knew they were exhausted. He could not let them be taken back as hostages. He just needed time to think.

            He turned around. Looked at the building he’d snuck into thirty hours before and raised his hand.

            _“Nezumi, you’ve headed each citizen seizure. Is this man one of the citizens you brought from the Gold District? Over.”_

_“Never seen the guy in my life. Over.”_

            “I recognize that voice,” Safu said quietly, from beside Shion. “The night I was taken, I went up to my room after you left. I could sense that there was a man in there, but the lights wouldn’t turn on, and I couldn’t see him. He told me not to panic, that everything would be all right, and then I don’t remember anything until I woke up at the compound, and he was gone.”

            “Did he hurt you?” Shion whispered back, still waiting for another direction from the walkie talkie.

            “No, I wasn’t injured at all. I don’t know what he did.”

            _“How did you come into my compound, Shion, if you were not taken here? Over.”_

It was Saya’s voice. Shion could assume she was the leader of the Resistance Force. Their mission was to level the inequalities within the country, specifically to stop the gluttony of the Gold District and use force if necessary to share the Gold District’s multitudinous resources with the destitute areas that surrounded it. The chief complaint of the Resistance Force was that most residents of the surrounding border area had built the Gold District to begin with, but were kicked out after its successful construction to make room for more affluent residents.

            Shion understood that he lived in a privileged community with an unethical origin. He also understood that a hand-out of resources was a temporary fix, and while the Resistance Force had goals he could empathize with, to take hostages from the Gold District was the wrong way to go about a fair allocation of resources.

            Shion pressed the button on the walkie talkie. “I broke in after news of the security camera outage was publicized in my district.”

            _“I’m impressed with your spirit, Shion, but unfortunately, you’ve got yourself in a little bit of a bind. I don’t intend on letting any of the hostages go until our demands have been met, and seeing as I have yet to receive any news that the current state of destitution has ended in the border areas, I don’t see how I can possibly let you or the hostages go. You’ll be added alongside your friends to our downstairs cells.”_

            Shion shook his head, reached out to grip the mesh of the gate, steady himself. “I broke into this compound and nearly got out. I won’t stop trying to free the citizens of my district, and being a hostage in your inefficiently guarded compound won’t prevent me from continuing my efforts. If you let everyone else return to the Gold District, I will remain your hostage, and I will cooperate. Otherwise, I’ll put up a fight every moment that I’m here.”

            “You forgot to say over,” Safu whispered, after a small stretch of silence, and Shion pressed the button again.

            “Over.”

            “Also, I’m not going to leave here without you,” Safu added. “I hope you’re not thinking anything otherwise, though that was very heroic of you to say.”

            “Safu, I’m not letting you – ” Shion cut himself off as Saya’s voice came back through the walkie talkie.

            _“That’s very gallant of you, Shion, but I have to remind you that you are not in a position to bargain. We have four hostages, and now you, and none of you are of any particular value over the others. If I allowed my colleague to shoot someone, say, the girl who was holding your hand, would you cooperate then? Over.”_

“Don’t shoot!” Shion shouted.

            _“Guards, collect the hostages. Nezumi, if you’ll stay in the power control room, I’ll be there shortly. I’d like to get an update from you on what was done to the security system to result in the mishap. Over.”_

 _“Roger that, captain. Over,”_ came the cool voice through the walkie talkie, and then Shion stopped listening, because guards were streaming out of the compound, running at Shion and the other hostages.

            “Everyone, stand up and put up your hands,” Safu instructed, and the other hostages stood from where they’d sat against the gate and came to stand beside her and Shion.

            “It’s okay, sweetheart. You tried, and really, it’s not so bad in there. This is bound to end soon,” said the hostage who stood beside Shion.

            It was the frequent customer at his mother’s bakery. Shion knew her favorite pastries – cinnamon buns and blueberry scones.

            Shion did not tell the woman that the demands of the Resistance Force were too high to be met immediately. They wanted a complete remodel of the border areas – new housing units, grocery stores, schools, a police and fire station, paved roads, etc. In the border areas currently, half the population were homeless and the most lucrative individuals were prostitutes who slipped into the Golden District for clientele. Changes like those the Resistance Force sought would take decades to come to fruition.

            Shion did not anticipate being a hostage for a decade. He would get out, and he would free the rest of the hostages, and he would not rest until he did so.

*

Nezumi had no inclination to get involved in the politics and silly schemes intended to make the Gold District cough up money for the border areas. He found the entire Resistance Force a waste of time; capturing hostages was not the way to get the resources the border areas were owed. What the Resistance Force should have been doing was using force – storming the Gold District with enough weaponry and violence that they’d have no choice but to give up the rightful portion of their stolen property.

            Nezumi had only joined the fruitless aims of the Resistance Force because they’d offered him quite a decent salary to pluck a Gold District citizen every few weeks, as well as a cushy house of his own at the edge of the border areas. It was close enough to the Gold District that Nezumi could look out his window and see the shiny, towering skyscrapers, nothing like the half-destroyed ramshackle skeletons of buildings that remained in the border areas.

            Nezumi had never had his own house. It was small, granted, with one kitchen, one bathroom, and one bedroom where he fit his bed and a couch, but it was more than Nezumi had ever had in his life.

            Nezumi considered starting his own rebellion against the Gold District. He’d heard rumors from others in the border areas who shared his sentiments – that the Resistance Force was too soft, that their capture of hostages was useless, especially when it was a rule for guards and the Citizen Seizing Unit not to use excessive force or violence against them. Sure, the hostages were locked in cells, but they were fed and had a roof over their heads, which meant even in captivity, they lived better than most inhabitants of the border areas.

            Nezumi kept his complaints to himself. As of now, he was living fine. He had time to plan a more worthwhile attack on the Gold District, and in the meantime, he was looking forward to returning to his little home away from the stupidity of the guards at the compound and the tiring ordeal of re-jailing the hostages alongside the new captive, an effort Nezumi chose not to take part in.

            Once he’d put water on to boil on his small stove, Nezumi unclipped his walkie talkie from his belt, placed it on his kitchen table, and switched it to the private channel only accessible to the Resistance Force leader and himself, as per her request after he filled her in on the camera security fix. She’d wanted him to stay on the line for a few hours in case the cameras broke again despite Nezumi’s assurance that they would not.

            He therefore was not expecting to have to talk to the woman for the rest of the night, but it wasn’t an hour later that her voice buzzed through the walkie talkie.

            _“Nezumi, you on the line? Over.”_

Nezumi finished his sentence in the book he was reading and flipped the corner of the page down to mark his place before picking up his walkie talkie and pressing the button.

            “I’m here. Over.”

            _“Hope you’re home. I’m headed to your place with a special delivery. Over.”_

            Nezumi narrowed his eyes. Pressed the button warily. “I don’t like code, Saya. Over.”

            Saya laughed into the radio. _“Had a bit of insubordination at the compound that nearly led to a guard losing an eye. Our newest hostage needs one-on-one babysitting away from his friends. The guards all live inside the compound, and we don’t want to put him with anyone who we don’t think could handle him. You can handle him, right? Over.”_

            Nezumi took a moment to accept that what he thought he had heard was what he’d actually heard. He sat up in his chair, rested an elbow on his table. “You’re not serious. Over.”

            _“It’s only temporary until I can figure out where it’s safe to keep the guy. The cells are filled at the compound, anyway, we never banked on having more than four hostages. Over.”_

“Then let him go,” Nezumi snapped, before remembering and having to press the button again. “Over.”

            _“And have him break in again on another rescue mission? Not your best idea. Over.”_

“Let one of the others go and put him in their cell. I’m not babysitting some defiant spoiled brat. Over.”

            _“If you want to keep your job and your nice house, you’ll babysit whomever I ask you to babysit. If that’s too much trouble for you, you can go on back to living on the street in the rotted heart of the border areas where I found you. I don’t really care one way or the other. Over.”_

            “Gotta be fucking kidding me,” Nezumi muttered, slamming up from his table and straying out of the kitchen into his bedroom, which he surveyed quickly before returning to the kitchen and grabbing the walkie talkie. “There’s no room for him here. And what if he tries to stab me in the eye? Over.”

            _“Find room, and don’t joke, Nezumi, we both know if he tries to stab you in the eye, he’ll be the one who goes blind in the end, right? Over.”_

“They’ve got cells at the compound. With padlocks. I’m hardly home anyway, what am I supposed to do with him when I’m out kidnapping another captive for you? Over.”

            _“That shouldn’t be a problem. All the cells at the compound are filled. You got the four hostages I hired you to get, so technically, your purpose here in the Resistance Force is over, and I should let you go. I’m being generous enough to find you a new job responsibility so you can keep your salary and home. Isn’t that nice? Why don’t you say thank you? Over.”_

“Thank you?” Nezumi nearly shouted, and then there was a knock at the door.

            _“Your delivery has arrived. Over.”_

            Nezumi turned off his walkie talkie feed so that he didn’t have to hear Saya’s laugh as he stalked back through his bedroom to the front door.

            He slammed it open and saw that Saya was walking back to her car across the road, though she turned around and waved over her shoulder. “Have fun! Remember to feed him, and don’t be too cruel. We need him alive, Nezumi, so be nice!” she called, then got in her car.

            Nezumi looked down at his feet, where the idiot who’d broken into the compound and attempted to free his friends was sitting, his legs tied at the ankles, his arms tied behind him, and tape over his mouth.

            He had bizarrely white hair and red eyes that Nezumi had only noted at a distance from the compound that afternoon. A fashion trend of the Gold District, probably. Proof that these brats had too much time and money and nothing better to do with it than invest in hair dye and colored contacts.

            “Just to be clear, I don’t want you here,” Nezumi said, before he stooped down and grabbed the hostage by his wrists.

            _Shion._ That was his name. Nezumi remembered from the guy’s words over the walkie talkie. He had spoken like some self-proclaimed hero. Completely annoying.

            Nezumi dragged the guy inside his house and set him down on the couch before returning to his door to close and lock it. When he turned to look at the hostage on his couch, the guy was sitting rather peacefully despite the fact that he’d insisted he’d fight to his last breath or some nonsense like that until he freed the other hostages.

            Nezumi walked slowly towards him, then bent down and tore the tape from the guy’s lips. He wasn’t a kid, but wasn’t that old either. Nezumi guessed mid-twenties, around his own age.

            Age was where their similarities ended. The hostage had lived, until that moment, a privileged life. Had everything he’d ever wanted handed to him on a silver platter. Didn’t know a thing about struggle, a thing about survival, a thing about the world.

            “I don’t want to be here either,” the hostage said, the moment his lips were free.

            “What?” Nezumi asked, as he’d been bracing himself for the hostage to start shouting or crying or some other nonsense.

            “You said just now that you didn’t want me to be here. I don’t want to be here either. You could do us both a favor and let me go.”

            Nezumi stared at the guy, then laughed. He was entertaining, for a hostage. “I’ll keep that option in mind.”

            “There are other jobs than kidnapping, if that’s what you’re worried about. I heard that woman, Saya, saying onto her walkie talkie to you on the way here. That you wouldn’t have a job if you didn’t keep me here, but there are other jobs. Less inhumane ones.”

            “Oh, is that right? The job market where I’m from is a little different than the Gold District’s,” Nezumi said, shaking his head and heading back into the kitchen.

            “These ropes are tight, you know!” the hostage called while Nezumi filled up a glass of water. “They’re cutting off my circulation, and you’re not supposed to kill me. Nobody is going to pay for a dead body.”

            Nezumi returned to his bedroom, leaning against the doorway and examining his hostage. “Nobody is going to pay for a live one either. Not for the amount that the Resistance Force is demanding, anyway.”

            The guy on his couch blinked. His colored contacts were pretty intense, when they were so carefully trained on him. “I agree with you. So what’s the point of this? If you know it’s useless and it’s not going to work, why would you be involved with them?”

            Nezumi walked back to the couch and sat beside the hostage, though he was careful to leave a foot of distance between them. “It’s a job, remember? I like money.”

            “You can make money in other ways.”

            “We went over this already. You’re talkative for a hostage, is that why Saya put the tape over your mouth? I’m regretting taking it off. You’re supposed to be scared and cowering, remember? I’m not a good guy, kid. Don’t think I’m gonna just let you ramble with no consequence.”

            “Don’t you have any sort of conscience? You must realize it’s wrong to kidnap people.”

            Nezumi held out the water. “Of course I have a conscience. I brought you this glass of water. Are you thirsty?”

            The hostage eyed the glass, then looked back at Nezumi. “No.”

            Nezumi smirked. “Liar. If you think a hunger strike is going to work on me, you’re woefully mistaken. I don’t care if you starve yourself. I’d actually prefer it. If you die, I don’t have to babysit you, and my life goes back to being peaceful and stress free.”

            “Saya said you couldn’t let me starve.”

            Nezumi leaned closer to the hostage. Made sure to look at him fully, and lowered his voice, needing to know his hostage understood. “I don’t always listen to what people tell me to do. Remember that.”

            He leaned back and drank half the glass of water before offering it again.

            “Would you like to finish this? It’s very refreshing. No fancy Brita filter here, sorry we can’t match your Gold District standards, but the bacteria shouldn’t make you too sick.”

            The hostage didn’t even look at the glass this time. “I don’t want it.”

            “If you dehydrate yourself, you can’t really blame me for that,” Nezumi observed.

            “Please untie me. The rope is rubbing my wrists raw.”

            “There are those Gold District manners I’ve heard so much about,” Nezumi said, setting the glass down by the foot of the couch without drinking the rest of the water. “Unfortunately, you’re a hostage, and I don’t have a cell in my house, so the binds have to stay on.”

            “I’m not going to run.”

            “No, you’ll just try to stab me in the eye.”

            “You can keep the binds on my ankles, just loosen my wrists.”

            “I won’t be doing that.”

            “Do you have to be so difficult?” Shion snapped, and Nezumi gaped at him.

            “You are aware you’re a hostage, right? I’m your captor, I’m supposed to be difficult. That’s the job description,” Nezumi said, standing back up and heading to the kitchen to get back to his book.

            “You don’t even want to be my captor! You’re not like the guards at the compound, it’s obvious you don’t despise us the way they do – ”

            At this, Nezumi froze, turned back immediately, and crouched in front of his hostage, wrapping his fingers around the guy’s face to turn his chin down and make sure he was listening.

            “Ow, let go – ”

            “Do not for a second think I don’t despise you. You’re a privileged little brat who’s never had to suffer the tiniest inconvenience a moment of your life. You don’t know what fear is, you don’t know what pain is, you don’t know what hate and anger are, you’ve never lived a day in your entire life because all you’ve done is sit around and get handed things, and let me tell you, that’s not what living is.”

            The red eyes were wide, and it occurred to Nezumi, from such close proximity, that they weren’t the result of colored contacts at all, but he didn’t give a damn, really, either way.

            “I don’t want you to get comfortable here, sitting around chatting and thinking you’ve gotten yourself out of the compound, that you’re lucky you only have to deal with me. I am not like the other guards, you’re right. They will hesitate to hurt you because Saya tells them it’s best to keep our hands clean. I don’t care about what Saya says. I don’t care about the Resistance Force or their futile hostage procedure. All I want is for you Gold District brats to get a taste of the kinds of suffering other people have to wade through every second of their lives, and I’ll snap your neck before you can bat your eyes and ask me nicely to please not hurt you. Got it, kid?”

            Nezumi let go of the hostage’s face and got up, had just stepped through the doorway back into the kitchen when he heard a small voice behind him.

            “Shion. My name is Shion.”

            Nezumi chose not to inform _Shion_ that he already knew this. He sat back at his kitchen table and peered into his half mug of tea, lifted it to his lips to find the contents lukewarm. He didn’t bother reheating it, and had his book open before Shion’s voice slipped into the room again.

            “And your name is Nezumi.”

            Nezumi stared at the first word of the page, knew this was not where he’d left off. He was still staring at the same word two minutes later when he stood up abruptly, slammed his book closed, went to the drawer beside the sink, pulled out a knife, and returned to the bedroom to find the hostage – Shion – sitting as he’d left him – his back against the armrest of the couch, wrists pinned between his back and the armrest, knees bent into his chest.

            He seemed to be looking around the room, but the red eyes were on Nezumi the instant Nezumi walked in.

            “Nezumi,” Shion said.

            Nezumi ignored the peculiarity of this stranger saying his name, syllables slow and tentative like the name was rainfall and the Shion was reaching a hand out his window to catch a few drops of it on his palm.

            Nezumi shook his head. Stood beside the hostage and held out the knife, and Shion’s eyes widened. It was fear, a diluted sort, more startled than scared, but Shion had never known fear, he wouldn’t be practiced in it, he wouldn’t know to let it consume him, tow him under in a wave, drown him.

            Shion’s lips opened, but no sound came out. Nezumi crouched beside him again.

            “Lean forward.”

            “Nezumi – ”

            Nezumi reached out, pushed Shion’s shoulder so that the hostage was bent forward and Nezumi could grab his tied wrists. He lifted the knife, cut through the rope in a quick movement. The skin that was exposed was red and raw, but not bleeding.

            Shion moved his arms forward, his hands jerking to rub at his wrists, but Nezumi didn’t allow him more than a moment of comfort. He had his knife pressed to Shion’s neck, noticed not for the first time the scar there that wrapped around onto his cheek, wrapped down as well, disappearing under the collar of his t-shirt.

            Shion’s eyes were wide. Incredibly red. A color that was hard to get used to. Not a normal red, but a startling one. Like splashes of blood that weren’t where they were supposed to be, confined in the body, hidden.

            “Move, and I’ll kill you,” Nezumi promised quietly. He could see when Shion swallowed.

            He removed his knife from Shion’s neck, left the hostage, and returned to his kitchen, where he rummaged through drawers until he found another length of rope leftover from what he supposed were his past kidnapping days, though he had never even used rope, and wasn’t sure why he’d bought it and kept it.

            In his bedroom, Shion had not moved. Nezumi had almost expected the man to be crawling halfway to the door, and was a little disappointed that the guy’s determination was so easily put out.

            Then again, he was a Gold District citizen. Not used to having to try too hard for long durations of time. He looked a little faint, from the pallor of his cheeks, and Nezumi wondered when was the last time the hostage had eaten.

            “Are the binds on your ankles too tight?” Nezumi asked, and Shion looked down at them as if he’d forgotten they were there.

            “What?”

            “Do I need to retie them? Weren’t you just complaining about your delicate circulation?”

            “Oh. No, they’re okay. It was my wrists, really, that were hurting.”

            “Great.” Nezumi looked around the room for something to tie the guy to. There was the couch, but the hostage could drag it into the kitchen in the middle of the night and get to the knives. He didn’t look particularly strong, but Nezumi preferred not to underestimate people, even if they were from the Gold District.

            The largest thing in the room was the bed, but that would give Shion access to Nezumi when he was sleeping. Nezumi didn’t altogether look forward to waking up with a spoiled brat’s grimy hands wrapped around his neck.

            There was the bookshelf. Significantly heavy, but it would allow the hostage to have access to the books. He could start hurling them at Nezumi at any moment. Or at the windows, smashing them in some rich kid tantrum.

            Nezumi sighed.

            “What are you looking for?”

            “Congratulations, you get to sleep on the bed,” Nezumi said, walking over to it and tying one end of his rope around it.

            “Why?”

            “Because it’s heavier than the couch, and I can’t have you roaming around the house.”

            “I don’t think I’m strong enough to move this couch at my current status. I haven’t eaten in a few days,” the hostage said, while Nezumi finished tying the knot.

            He pulled it to test it, then looked around the bed for any possible things the hostage could use to cut himself loose.

            On finding none, he returned to the hostage, grabbed his upper arm, and yanked him off the couch.

            “Get up.”

            “Ow! You could have pulled my arm out of its socket. You have an incredible amount of strength for someone who’s so lean.”

            Nezumi shook his head and dragged Shion to his bed, seeing as the guy could barely walk with his ankles tied so tightly together.

            “Ow,” Shion murmured.

            “Lie down.”

            “What are you going to do to me?”

            Nezumi rolled his eyes. “Try not to ask stupid questions, I find them irritating.”

            “You’re asking me to lie down on your bed. That’s not a stupid question,” Shion said.

            Nezumi pushed his bangs from his face. “I’m seeing how long the rope needs to be so I can tether you securely to the bed but still allow you to sleep somewhat comfortably. Happy?”

            Shion narrowed his eyes, but still laid down, and Nezumi waited for him to settle. “I can’t really say I’m happy, since I’m a hostage and you keep threatening to kill me.”

            “It was a rhetorical question. Do you know what that means?”

            “How old are you?” Shion asked, while Nezumi gathered the other end of the rope he’d tied to the bedpost.

            Nezumi glanced at him. “I’ll let you pick which wrist gets tied.”

            “You seem kind of young to be kidnapping people. It’s that what creepy old guys do?” Shion asked, holding out an arm.

            His left arm. Nezumi took this to mean Shion was right-handed. He reached out for it, his fingers skating gently over the skin that was rubbed raw. It felt thin and tender under his touch, and he noted Shion wincing.

            “You seem kind of old to be whining.”

            “I’m not whining. I’m twenty-four.”

            “Fascinating,” Nezumi said, noting they were the same age, not knowing what to do with this information. He turned away from Shion, went to the piles of clothes on his floor, dug around and found a sock without its pair. “Stay,” he told Shion, before taking the sock to the kitchen, where he cut the toes off with a scissors.

            “Are you going to gag me with that? I’ll stop talking, you could have just said so,” Shion said quickly, leaning back as Nezumi walked forward.

            He was sitting up on the bed now, but otherwise, the hostage had not moved.

            “Stop talking,” Nezumi said, taking Shion’s hand again and pulling the cut sock over it, careful to cover the raw skin with the fabric and folding the sock over so that there was extra padding before he reached for the rope again.

            “Oh,” Shion said quietly.

            He was silent as Nezumi tied the end of the rope to his wrist, testing it to make sure it was loose enough not to dig into his skin through the sock, but tight enough not to slip off his hand no matter how hard he pulled at it.

            He didn’t realize how closely he was standing to Shion until Shion pointed it out to him.

            “I could poke you in the eyes with the fingers of my free hand and blind you,” Shion said softly, while Nezumi continued to pull on the rope to see if it would slip over Shion’s palm.

            Nezumi glanced up at him, surprised by the words, wondering what kind of person this Shion was anyway. “Try it.”

            “I’d have nothing to gain from it. I’m tied to this bed. You’ve taken away the knife. If I blind you, you might get angry and kill me.”

            A lunatic, Nezumi decided. His hostage was a lunatic. “Smart thinking.”

            “Are you going to tell me how old you are?”

            Nezumi dropped Shion’s wrist and the rope that now successfully kept him within a foot and a half of the bed at all times. “Why does it matter to you?”

            “You seem young, but I don’t want to believe it. It’s hard to think that someone so young could resort to kidnapping and holding hostages. Surely there are other options for you.”

            Nezumi squinted at the hostage. “Of course. I could whore myself out. Maybe you’re right, I should quit my day job. How much would a guy like you pay for me?”

            Shion frowned.

            “Enough to make a living?” Nezumi asked, leaning forward, and Shion leaned back.

            “I don’t – ”

            “How often would you require my services? Enough times a week for me to keep the heating bill paid?”

            “That’s not what I meant – ”

            “Bet a kid like you would pay a fortune to fuck me senseless,” Nezumi whispered, leaning so close that Shion’s knees over the side of the bed pressed into Nezumi’s waist.

            Shion leaned back so far he fell back against the bed, and Nezumi laughed, stepping away from him.

            “Forget it, Your Majesty, keep your pearls of wisdom to yourself. We can’t all make the same sparkling life choices as you have.”

            Nezumi was back at the kitchen table, had finished drinking the dregs of his cold tea and successfully read two more pages of his book before there was Shion’s voice again, smaller than before.

            “Nezumi?”

            Nezumi pushed his fingers into his bangs. Rested his forehead against the base of his palm and took a deep breath before standing up, taking his book with him, ready to smack the hostage with it if necessary.

            “What is it, Your Majesty?” he sighed at the doorway.

            Shion sat against the headboard of his bed, his knees again pulled up to his chest. “Why are you calling me that?”

            “Why do you think?” Nezumi snapped. “That better not be what you wanted.”

            “No. What happens when I need to use the bathroom?”

            “Oh. Shit.”

            “If you just kept me untied from the bed and had only my ankles tied, it’d be pretty unrealistic that I’d be able to escape, so – ”

            “Shut up, I’m not doing that. I’ll untie you temporarily when you need to use the bathroom.”

            “And tie me back each time with a tight enough knot? That seems like a lot of work,” Shion said, while Nezumi threw his book onto the couch and returned to Shion’s side to untie his wrist.

            “Sure does.”

            “I suppose this is your full-time job now, though. Watching me.”

            “Looks like it,” Nezumi muttered.

            “I hope it’s worth it,” Shion rambled, and Nezumi wrapped his hand around Shion’s wrist, hard enough that Shion was wincing when Nezumi looked up at him. “Ah – Ow.”

            “Want me to snap your wrist?”

            “No,” Shion breathed.

            “Then stop telling me to rethink my career options. The topic’s gone stale. Ramble about something else for a little, won’t you?” Nezumi snapped, and Shion nodded quickly.

            Nezumi loosened his hold on Shion’s wrist, but didn’t let go. He half-dragged Shion to the bathroom while Shion hopped uselessly beside him, occasionally falling against Nezumi’s side.

            “Are you going to blind me now that you’re free from the bed?” Nezumi asked, once they’d reached the door of the bathroom.

            “I was thinking about it.”

            “But?”

            “But with my legs tied like this, you’d still catch me. And I’m starting to believe you.”

            “Believe me about what?” Nezumi asked, letting go of Shion’s wrist when they stood in front of the toilet.

            “When you say you’ll kill me,” Shion said quietly, staring at Nezumi, who stared back for only a moment before he glanced at his toilet.

            “Number one or two?” he asked, deciding not to reply to Shion’s comment.

            “One,” Shion mumbled. “Are you going to watch?”

            “There are razors in the bathroom. Can’t trust you and your infamous eye-stabbing.”

            “Can’t you move the razors?”

            “I’m not going to inconvenience myself because you’re embarrassed to pee.”

            “Does this mean you won’t let me use a razor? I need to shave too, you know.”

            Nezumi pressed his thumb and forefinger to his temples. “Why? Nobody is looking at you, what the hell does it matter if you grow a beard?”

            “I prefer to be clean-shaven.”

            “I’ll fucking shave you then, all right, Your Majesty? Are you going to pee or not?”

            The hostage bit his lip, then stared resolutely down at the toilet. “Just give me a second,” he whispered.

            Nezumi lowered his gaze. Watched the hostage’s hands fumble on the button of his jeans, and then the zipper, and then the waistband of his boxers.

            There was a long pause before Shion peed, and then the trickle of it sounded louder than it should have, and Nezumi noted that it was extremely yellow, nearly orange. The guy was dehydrated, and again, Nezumi wondered when the last time he’d eaten or drank was, how he even had anything in him to pee at all.

            Nezumi glanced up at Shion’s face as he rezipped his jeans. The hostage was still staring down at the toilet, and then he was reaching out, flushing it, pointing halfheartedly to the sink.

            “Can I wash my hands?” he asked quietly, so Nezumi moved aside, watched the guy shuffle over and wash his hands carefully, his fingers moving slowly over each other and his palms, the suds of soap building up and washing off.

            Nezumi let him take his time. Handed him the hand towel when he turned off the faucet, and took it back when Shion finished drying his hands.

            They returned to the bed, where Nezumi again tied Shion’s wrist. The cloth of the sock around his wrist was wet at the edge from when he’d washed his hands.

            “When’s the last time you’ve eaten?” Nezumi asked.

            Shion just shrugged, lying down the moment Nezumi released his hand – extremely warm from the water he’d washed it with – and turning onto his side so his back faced Nezumi.

            He pulled his knees to his chest. His back was curved, and Nezumi could see where the stones of his spine dug into the fabric of his t-shirt.

             Nezumi looked at him for a moment. Curled in a ball on his side, he looked astonishingly small and fragile. Frail. His wrist had felt thin beneath Nezumi’s hand when he’d squeezed it, his bones like bones of a bird.

            Nezumi left the bedside. Rummaged in his kitchen, wishing he kept it better stocked, thinking he’d have to go to the market the next morning. He placed three slices of bread and the last of the cheese on a plate, and brought it with another full glass of water to his bedroom, noting that the glass of water he’d left at the foot of the couch was still half full.

            “Your Majesty,” he said, once he was again at the side of the bed, but the hostage didn’t stir.

            Nezumi looked at his white hair, pressed against his pillow. He’d forgotten to take the pillow for himself for when he slept on the couch, but decided the hostage could use it for the night.

            He couldn’t see any sign of darker roots at the edges of Shion’s white hair. The hostage’s eyelashes and eyebrows and pubic hair were white as well. So it wasn’t dye.

            “Shion,” Nezumi said. The rise and fall of Shion’s upper body was not even. He was not asleep. The blanket was at a pile by Shion’s feet. He wasn’t wearing shoes, and Nezumi realized he hadn’t been wearing shoes the entire time. He wondered if Saya had taken Shion’s shoes. It seemed an unnecessary thing to take.

            Nezumi sighed. He didn’t have a nightstand on which to place the plate, and so he left it on the floor alongside the cup of water. “There’s food on the floor by the bed. You’ll be able to reach it. Not a hot meal, but I’ll get groceries tomorrow. You should eat when you’re ready.”

            Nezumi’s watch said it was half past ten. He returned to the bathroom, left the door open a crack to hear if Shion called, and undressed before getting into the shower.

            He turned the water on hot, let smoke fill up the bathroom, wanting the heat of it to tire him out so that the moment he laid on the couch without a pillow or blanket, he would fall instantly asleep.

*

When Shion cried, he had nowhere to wipe his nose, but he didn’t want to sniffle because he didn’t want Nezumi to hear him.

            He didn’t know why he cared what Nezumi thought of him. He had every right to cry. He was a hostage. Nezumi did not seem entirely stable. He was gentle and then angry in quick bursts, completely temperamental. The grey of his eyes could soften and harden in a flash. Shion didn’t understand him, what it was he wanted, if it could really be this – holding a hostage in his home.

            It didn’t seem likely. He could tell Nezumi did not want him there. Nezumi had said he didn’t do what he was told, yet it was only because Saya had told him to house Shion that Nezumi was doing so.

            The man did not make sense. It occurred to Shion that Nezumi himself didn’t understand his own actions. Shion decided he would assume Nezumi was the same age as himself – twenty-four. Hardly an adult. He clearly lived alone, and Shion wondered about his family, his friends, if they knew what he was doing with the Resistance Force, what they thought of it.

            Shion fell in and out of sleep. He tangled himself in the rope that tethered him to the bed at some point so that it pulled on his wrist and accidentally fell asleep on top of his arm that way. When he woke, the tips of his fingers were blue, and Shion flipped over off his arm, waited while his entire limb tingled, tried moving his fingers until the color faded from them.

            He was starving. His eyes had adjusted to the dark of the room, and he peered over the side of the bed to see a plate of cheese and bread and a glass of water. The water was the most tempting. He continued to look at it, then looked at Nezumi’s sleeping form on the couch. He slept haphazardly, and Shion doubted he would remain on the couch the entire night. As it was, he seemed to be half off of it. His hair was loosened from the ponytail he’d had it in and covered his entire face so that Shion could see none of what Nezumi’s expression looked like as he slept.

            Shion didn’t touch the food. He didn’t touch the water. He knew his body needed it and didn’t know why he was refusing it. He was angry, he supposed. Angry that Nezumi was being hospitable, as if that could even out the terrible things he’d done – taken people from the Gold District, kept Shion hostage, threatened to kill him.

            He was a bad person, and Shion had to keep reminding himself of this, not knowing why it was not obvious, why his rage was not constant and needed to be egged on by the rational parts of his brain.

            He assumed it was because he was hungry. Thirsty. He wasn’t thinking clearly. If he had been, his hatred for Nezumi would have come easily, swiftly, would not have ebbed and flowed, waned until he could coax it again to the forefront of his mind.

            Shion was awake when Nezumi did fall of the couch. He was again looking down at the plate of food and glass of water, again telling himself not to touch them even though he didn’t know why he was telling himself that. It was the sound Nezumi made that alerted him. Shion looked up, and there was Nezumi on the floor. He’d made a small, soft sound, muffled. A sleepy sound.

            Nezumi stayed on the floor for some time. Shion wondered if he’d woken at all, but then he was moving, pushing himself up, climbing back on the couch, rearranging himself so that his back faced Shion, settling again. He murmured in his sleep, and Shion kept trying to make out his words, but they sounded like another language altogether. If Shion had to guess at their tone, he would have said panic or fear.

            Shion wished there was a clock. Nezumi seemed to have none is his room. Nezumi wore a watch, but it wasn’t currently on his wrist. Shion didn’t know where it was. He sat up in bed and looked for it, but couldn’t see it. He tried to fall back asleep.

            There was a window in Nezumi’s room, and when faint sunlight finally began to shove its way through the closed blinds, Shion felt nothing but relief. He had cried more than once in the night. He had a throbbing headache. He was desperate to know what time it was. The night had felt like several weeks. His legs were sore from being bound together. He wanted to stretch them. He wanted to get out.

            He stared at the sunlight, wanting more of it, watching it stretch onto the mattress and then onto his arm when he reached out to touch it. Shion wanted to get out of the clothes he wore. He wanted a shower. He wanted to go back to sleep.

            The sun had reached Nezumi by the time Nezumi stirred. He was, again, off the couch. Shion had not been awake the second time he’d fallen. He turned to watched the morning sun touch Nezumi’s face. Nezumi had very pale skin and very dark hair. He seemed to be a person of contrasts. His angles were very sharp – elbows and cheekbones and shoulders. His hair seemed very soft, and his hands delicate even though Shion knew they were strong.

            He woke with another sleepy sound. Even his sounds seemed silent. His knuckles rubbed against his eyelids and his fingers strung through his hair, pushing it off his face, before his eyes opened.

            Shion turned to stare at the ceiling so he wouldn’t be caught looking. There were birds chirping outside the window. Signs of life. The rest of the world. Going on as if there was no reason not to, as if nothing at all had changed.

            The sound of a sink running startled Shion, who turned in surprise to see that Nezumi had gotten up. Shion had been listening for his movements and heard none. He wondered if Nezumi naturally moved silently, or if he had taught himself to do so.

            Shion listened to Nezumi’s movements in the bathroom, and then Nezumi was out, close to him, Shion could tell, though he closed his eyes. He heard nothing until there was the sound of water splashing in the kitchen, and he opened his eyes again, peeked around the room to find it empty.

            Nezumi was in the kitchen. Shion peered over the side of his bed and saw that his plate of food and glass of water that he hadn’t touched were gone.

            Nezumi was back before Shion could pretend to be asleep again. He was still leaning over the bed when Nezumi walked into the room. His hair was still down around his shoulders, sticking to the fabric of his t-shirt. It was longer than Shion had thought when it had been in a ponytail.

            “Oh, I didn’t know you were awake,” Nezumi said. He spoke more quietly in the morning.

            Shion sat up. Nezumi was holding a plate with bread that had some kind of jam on it in one hand, a glass of water in the other.

            “Fresh water. New bread, and I toasted it with strawberry jam. I don’t really know what you like,” Nezumi said.

            Shion wanted to shout at him. To remind Nezumi and himself that he was a hostage, and Nezumi was keeping him here against his will, and bringing bread with jam and speaking in a soft morning voice and looking at him in concern didn’t change any of that, only made it worse.

            “I don’t want it.” Shion’s voice cracked. He tried to swallow, but his entire mouth was dry. His tongue felt strange. His head kept throbbing, and he thought he would be sick from it, but he had nothing in him to throw up.

            “Your lip’s bleeding. I’ll bring you lip balm,” Nezumi said, setting down the plate on the floor but still holding the water. “At least drink this.”

            “No.”

            “This doesn’t have to be as difficult as you’re making it, you know. Being a martyr won’t get you anywhere.”

            “I’m not making anything difficult. You’re making it difficult,” Shion reminded, but his voice wasn’t as angry as he wanted it to be, sounded breathy and pathetic instead.

            “Do you need to use the bathroom?” Nezumi asked calmly, as if Shion had said nothing at all, and Shion wondered if he had.

            “I don’t need anything,” Shion said carefully, needing to make sure he spoke this time, and Nezumi just looked at him.

            When Nezumi looked at him, it was not in a normal way. It made Shion’s head throb more violently. His skin felt hot. It angered him, to be looked at like this. He couldn’t name it, and didn’t want to. He just wanted to get out.

            Nezumi stopped looking at him. Stooped to place the glass of water carefully beside the plate of bread and jam Shion had no intention of eating, then stepped back.

            “I’ve got to head out for some things. I should be back in an hour or so, but until then…” Nezumi glanced at his bookshelf.

            Shion had examined this bookshelf the afternoon before, while he’d still been on the couch and Nezumi was in the kitchen. There was a lot of classic literature. A few books Shion had read in school, but most he’d only heard about.

            Nezumi was plucking a book out of the shelf with one finger, held it out to Shion.

            “It’s the lightest paperback I’ve got. Just in case you’re inclined to hurl it out the window,” he said.

            Shion didn’t take it. _Of Mice and Men._ He’d read it before, a long time ago. Could only remember a character named Lenny who’d killed a rabbit. Or maybe it was a mouse.

            Nezumi put it on the mattress. Took a step back from Shion, and then another, and then he was grabbing a jacket from the floor and taking something out of boots before shoving his feet into them. Shion saw only after he’d straightened up again that it was keys Nezumi had taken out of one of his boots.

            Nezumi stood at the door then, glanced behind his shoulder at Shion as he raised his hands and freed his hair from beneath his jacket.

            He looked as if he might say something, but then he didn’t, and he was just looking at Shion in that way he did, that way that was unlike any way Shion had ever been looked at – but Shion didn’t care about it, didn’t want Nezumi looking at him, didn’t want to be kept in this place where Nezumi could look at him against his will because all of it was against his will, and Shion was going to get out whether or not Nezumi kept looking at him like that.

            Nezumi left before Shion could stop inwardly seething at him. The door closed gently behind his back, and Shion was alone.

*

When Nezumi let himself back into his apartment, his arms full of grocery bags, the first thing he did was look towards the bed.

            It was empty.  

            Nezumi kicked the door shut behind him and dropped the grocery bags as Shion jumped on him. Nezumi put together, as he fell to the floor, that Shion must have been standing against the wall where the door opened, hidden by it as Nezumi walked in.

            Nezumi fell on his side and was about to slam the hostage on top of him to the ground when he felt something sharp against his neck.

            “Move, and I’ll kill you,” Shion whispered, sounding breathless.

            Nezumi’s hair was in his eyes. Shion pushed him from his side to his back, and Nezumi allowed it, aware that Shion was not bluffing – there was indeed something sharp against his neck, and Nezumi tried to figure out what it was.

            “A shard of the plate,” Shion breathed, his knees digging into Nezumi’s thighs. “I used it to cut the ropes.”

            “Clever,” Nezumi said quietly. One of Shion’s hands was around one of his wrists, pinning it to the floor. “Did you at least eat the bread before you smashed my plate?”

            “Yeah. Figured I could use the energy on the day I was escaping.”

            “That’s good. You needed to eat.”

            Nezumi listened to Shion’s breathing. It sounded labored. The guy was nervous. He had every reason to be. He had no idea what he was doing. He’d never threatened anyone’s life before. He was new at it, scared shitless. Nezumi almost pitied him.

            “Hey, can you move my hair out of my eyes?” Nezumi asked.

            “Why would I do that?”

            “I asked you politely.”

            Shion was silent for a moment, and then – “You can do it.”

            Nezumi lifted his free hand. Moved slowly, not wanting to startle the kid. The plate shard was very close to his jugular. He was impressed that Shion knew where to press it.

            He shoved his hair from his eyes. Could see Shion hovering over him. Red eyes wide. Lips parted.

            Nezumi rested his hand back where it was on the floor. “What happens now?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “How do you escape?”

            Shion blinked. “I have a shard of glass to your jugular. So you have to do what I say. I’ll tell you to get up and stand against the wall, and I’ll tie your arms and legs with the rope, and then I’ll leave.”

            “While you’re tying me up, you won’t have the shard of glass to my neck. I can attack you. Take the shard of glass. Put it against your neck.”

            Shion’s eyebrows pinched. “I have the upper hand.”

            “I advise you not to lose it.”

            “I’ll tie you up with one hand.”

            “How will you do that?” Nezumi pressed. “The knot wouldn’t be strong. You wouldn’t be focused on keeping the shard to my neck, and I’d take it from you while you were distracted by tying the knot.”

            “What would you suggest then?” Shion snapped.

            His cheeks were pink. His breath smelled of strawberry jam. Nezumi hoped the eggs he’d bought from the market hadn’t cracked when he’d dropped the grocery bag.

            “It’s obvious what you have to do,” he said.

            Shion didn’t say anything.

            “You have to kill me first. Then escape,” Nezumi said, watching Shion carefully.

            He found his hostage fascinating. The guy should have run while Nezumi was at the grocery store. He must have thought Nezumi would have come after him. He must not have realized that Nezumi might not have wanted a hostage, might have welcomed an untimely escape.

            It occurred to Nezumi that he could let Shion get away with it. Let him think his plan was sound. That there weren’t holes all over it. He could let Shion escape.

            Nezumi contemplated it for only a second before pushing the thought away immediately. What a stupid idea. The hostage was his salary. Was his rent check. Was his entire livelihood, until Nezumi figured out how the hell he was going to convince Saya to get rid of him.

            “I’m not going to kill you,” Shion finally said.

            Nezumi shrugged, his shoulder blades moving against the floor beneath him. “Then wound me enough that I can’t come after you. Cut my leg off.”

            Shion’s horrified expression was almost cute. “I’m not going to do that!”

            “What are you going to do then?” Nezumi asked. He could feel that Shion’s hand was shaking. The shard of glass vibrated against the skin of his neck. Shion’s hand was likely to slip. Nezumi had to calm him down.

            “I don’t know, I don’t know,” Shion was saying, his voice rising.

            “Hey, Your Majes – Shion. Careful. Breathe. It’s going to be okay.”

            “How? Are you going to let me go?” Shion demanded.

            Nezumi just looked at him. He liked to look at Shion. He found his hostage’s features magnetic.

            Shion was shaking his head. “If I don’t do this, if I don’t leave while I can, you’ll never let me go.”

            “Shion. Listen to me. You have to make a choice. You kill me, or you don’t. Those are your choices.”

            “Or I cut off your leg,” Shion said quietly.

            “Or you cut off my leg,” Nezumi agreed. He would have nodded to reassure the guy if there wasn’t a shard of glass to his neck.

            Shion wasn’t going to kill him. The guy was not a murderer. But accidental manslaughter was seeming more and more likely. Nezumi needed to get the shard away from his neck.

            “You’re not a good person. I don’t care about the bread with jam and the – You’re not. You’re not a good person,” Shion was saying.

            Nezumi didn’t know how he’d thought the red of the hostage’s eyes could be created by colored contacts. It was incredible. Terrifying. Mesmerizing. Nezumi had a hard time looking away from it.

            “You’re a criminal. Do you realize that?” Shion was asking.

            Nezumi didn’t know if he was supposed to respond, but Shion was looking at him expectantly, so he offered an answer. “Yes.”

            Shion’s eyes widened. He blinked. “Yes, what?” he asked, sounding confused.

            Nezumi squinted at him. “Yes, I know I’m a criminal.”

            “Do you want to be a criminal?” Shion asked, leaning closer to him now, the shard of glass pressing closer as a result.     

            Nezumi gritted his teeth together. He wasn’t interested in getting introspective on his own life with an idiot on top of him and a shard of glass to his neck.

            He didn’t answer. Shion continued to stare at him, and then he seemed to resign himself, and then the shard of glass was no longer against Nezumi’s neck, and Nezumi didn’t hesitate.

            He lunged, had Shion under him in seconds, pinned the man’s wrists and legs down and stared down at Shion while Shion looked back up at him.

            The shard of glass was beside his shoulder. Nezumi looked at it, then back at Shion.

            “I can’t be like you,” Shion said, between his breaths.

            Nezumi felt his eyes narrow as he looked down at the spoiled brat who could say shit like that as if he was proud of himself.

            He didn’t have to be like Nezumi. He was privileged enough to never need to be like Nezumi, and he thought it was a choice he’d made, he thought he was the bigger man, choosing to act ethically or morally or justly or whatever bullshit term he wanted to stamp on it when Nezumi didn’t get a choice at all, had never had a choice in his life at all.

            “Lucky you,” Nezumi replied, his voice dry. He adjusted his grip on the hostage’s wrists so that one hand pinned them both down above the hostage’s head before picking up the shard of glass, throwing it to a corner of his room. “Now, Your Majesty, should we do this the easy way, or the hard way?”

            “Does it matter?” Shion asked, his voice not clipped enough to hide when it shook, so Nezumi reached into his jacket pocket, pleased with himself for having kept a spare on him in case he’d needed to go on an impromptu kidnapping job.

            He pulled out the syringe, and Shion’s eyes widened on it, following it as Nezumi pressed the tip into the pale skin of the hostage’s upper arm. Nezumi noticed that Shion’s eyes were wet before he pushed the plunger, and then Shion’s eyes were closing, and Nezumi didn’t have to notice anything about them any longer.

*


	2. Chapter 2

When Shion woke, he was lying on his side. His left arm was again tied to the bed post, but his legs were no longer roped together.

            Shion stared at the ceiling. He had to pee. The first thing he’d done on freeing himself was drink five glasses of water, filling them one after the other at the kitchen sink. His headache was gone, which was a welcome change.

            “Morning, sleeping beauty.”

            Shion turned away from the ceiling to see Nezumi sitting on the couch, reading. The book in his hands was _Of Mice and Men._ Nezumi glanced at it after seeming to scrutinize Shion.

            “Haven’t reread this one in a while. I sort of forgot it was up there. Have you read it?”

            “I have to pee,” Shion replied, and Nezumi looked at him again.

            “Okay.” He stood up. Had more rope with him, blue this time instead of the white rope he’d used before. Shion wondered when he’d gotten it. Where the old rope was.

            “What time is it?” Shion asked, while Nezumi tied the new rope around Shion’s ankles.

            Nezumi glanced at his watch. “Half past noon. You’ve been out for three hours. You may have noticed, but I’ve decided to leave your legs untied unless we’re taking field trips to the bathroom. Seems fair, don’t you think?”

            “None of this is fair.”

            “I wouldn’t say that.”

            “What would you say?” Shion demanded, while Nezumi tightened the knot around his ankles and started untying his wrist.

            “I’d say you’ve had this coming for quite some time,” Nezumi replied, glancing at Shion quickly before looking back at the rope.

            Shion narrowed his eyes. “Seems a little drastic to pin the blame of all of the Gold District on me.”

            Nezumi laughed lightly. “Maybe. But seeing as you’re my only hostage, you’re the only one I can blame.”

            Shion’s wrist was untied, and he pulled it to his chest, rubbed it. There was a new cut sock around it, as he’d removed the previous one during his escape attempt.

            “What did you do to me? What was in that syringe? Is that how you took all the other hostages? Is that how you took Safu?”

            Nezumi’s hand was light around Shion’s arm as he guided him to the bathroom, but Shion knew that his grip could tighten, how quickly the man could shed the act of his humanity.

            “Safu?” Nezumi asked mildly.

            They were at the bathroom. Shion did not hesitate this time, unzipped his jeans and lowered his boxers and peed without caring if Nezumi was watching him.

            “I know you know who she is. The most recent citizen you kidnapped from my district.”

            “Your girlfriend,” Nezumi said, while Shion zipped his jeans back up.

            Shion washed his hands silently. The warm water felt incredible over his skin. He was desperate for a shower. He was aware that he was beginning to smell.

            “I kidnapped all of the citizens the same way. It was painless. You know that.”

            “So?” Shion demanded, accidentally shouting, turning to glare at Nezumi, who watched him calmly. “Do you really think that makes anything better? Knowing you don’t hurt the people you take away from their homes and families and friends? Knowing there’s no sign of physical injury, does that make you sleep better at night?”

            Nezumi didn’t even flinch. “Not at all. The well-being of Gold District citizens has nothing at all do to with how I sleep at night.”

            “You toss and turn. You sleep terribly, I saw you last night. That’s guilt, you know,” Shion snapped.

            Nezumi’s smile was small and strange, hardly a smile at all but that his lips were turned up. “You’re wrong. It’s not guilt. Try not to watch me while I sleep, it’s creepy. Let’s go.”

            Nezumi grabbed Shion’s wrist. Shion thought about punching the man just because he could.

            “So what’s your plan? How long are you going to keep me here? The rest of our lives? You said yourself, you know the Gold District can’t meet the demands of the Resistance Force. So then what?” Shion asked.

            “I highly doubt you’ll be here a day or two more. Saya’s looking for another cell to lock you up in. Maybe they’ll build a new one just for you, doesn’t that sound nice?” Nezumi asked.

            “What if she doesn’t find anywhere else to put me?”

            “Then I guess we’ll be stuck with each other. What a nice thing to look forward to.”

            Shion sat on the edge of the bed and watched Nezumi tie his wrist. “What kind of life will it be for you? Having to take care of me? Is that really what you want to be doing?”

            “I thought we discussed how tedious I found this topic,” Nezumi replied.

            “It’s an invasion of your privacy as well as mine. You’re basically a hostage too. You’re tied to your house, you have to come back and feed me and take me to the bathroom every few hours.”

            “Actually, I don’t. I do it because I’m a nice guy. Keep this up, though, I’ll let you pee the bed. See how much you like sleeping in your own mess.”

            “You’re going to get sick of me, and then what?” Shion demanded.

            Nezumi had finished tying the knot and was untying the rope around his legs. He freed the rope completely from Shion’s ankles before he looked at Shion, his eyes completely flat, expressionless. “I’m already sick of you. Unlike you, I’m used to dealing with situations I don’t particularly enjoy. Stop worrying about my happiness and shut up for five minutes.”

            “Why should I? What are you going to do to me? I don’t see why I should make your life easy when you’re doing this to me, this is your fault, you’ve taken me hostage and – Where are you going?”

            Nezumi had gone into his kitchen. Shion pulled at the rope that bound his wrist to the bedpost. He should have ran that morning when he’d freed himself. He realized this now. The next time he freed himself, he wouldn’t give Nezumi the chance to catch him.

            Nezumi returned with a roll of duct tape. Shion swallowed. Watched Nezumi free a piece of tape with the jarring sound of it unsticking itself from the roll. Nezumi tore the section off the roll with his teeth. Threw the roll on the couch and approached the bed again while Shion debated whether or not to kick him with his freed legs.

            “You’re right. I don’t want you as a hostage. I don’t enjoy having a chatty brat tied to my bed. I like privacy, and with you here, that’s gone. But I’m not going to let you go, no matter what argument you try to make, so I suggest saving your breath. Do I need to use this?”

            Shion glared at him. “I’m not going to shut up. I’m not going to make you feel like you’re humane, or like you’re – ”

            When Nezumi reached out to grip his jaw, Shion grabbed his wrist. Dug his fingernails into his captor’s skin. Felt as Nezumi dug his fingernails into the skin of his own face in turn.

            Shion kicked him, hard, catching Nezumi in the gut, and then he felt a sharp pain across the side of his face, throwing him backward against the bed, his hand immediately loosening from Nezumi’s wrist.

            Not a second later, Nezumi was on the bed, over him, a hand around his throat, and Shion gasped for breath for only a moment before there was tape over his mouth. He reached out to try and hit Nezumi, but Shion was being hit first, once, and then again, and he lay limp, his eyes watering, trying to catch his breath through just his nose, hearing his own struggles to breathe.

            Nezumi was off of him. Shion’s face throbbed and stung all at once. He breathed too quickly through his nose. He pushed himself up so that he was sitting again and rubbed at his eyes until his vision was clear, and he could see that Nezumi was back on the couch, reading again as if he’d never gotten up.

            Shion touched his upper lip. Pulled his fingers away and saw that there was blood there, his nose was bleeding. The left side of his face burned. His jaw ached. Even so, he had a feeling that Nezumi could have hit him harder if he’d wanted to, and Shion wondered why he didn’t want to.

            He wondered why Nezumi didn’t just beat him until he passed out. He wondered why, if Nezumi was trying to teach him a lesson on how to behave like a proper hostage, he didn’t do it properly, he didn’t break Shion’s wrist, he didn’t tie Shion’s legs back together, he didn’t use the strength Shion knew he had.

            Shion tore the tape from his lips. Breathed in gasps. Stared at Nezumi, and couldn’t convince himself that Nezumi hadn’t realized Shion’s hands were free, and he could simply take the tape from his lips when he wanted.

            Shion crumbled the tape in his hand. Felt blood trickle from his nose to his upper lip and licked it, tasted the metallic tang, reached up and wiped at his lip with the back of his hand that came away bloody.

            He wiped the blood on his shirt. Lifted his shirt to staunch the flow. Tilted his head up. Didn’t speak even though his lips were no longer taped.

            He knew Nezumi was aware he’d taken the tape from his lips, even though Nezumi hadn’t looked up from his book. Shion’s breaths were loud, incredibly audible in the quiet of the house. The tape wasn’t a gag. It was a message, and Shion understood it.

            He was to listen to what Nezumi said, and if he didn’t, he would pay for it.

*

Nezumi made chicken noodle soup for lunch. Shion looked like he could use some nutrients. There was something relaxing in chopping carrots, celery, potatoes, the pieces of chicken, hitting hard to cut the bones in half with one strike of his knife.

            It was a relief to be in the kitchen, away from Shion and his bloody shirt. At least the guy had stopped talking. Nezumi’s knuckles were lightly bruised. So was the left side of Shion’s face. It was a dark pink, and Nezumi knew the color would change as the days passed.

            Nezumi wasn’t interested in watching these colors changed. He needed Shion to get out of his house. While the soup cooked in the pot, Nezumi left the house to stand outside his door and turn on his walkie talkie.

            “Saya, you there? Over.”

            He didn’t have to wait half a minute.

            _“Nezumi. I see you’ve had your walkie off. It’s been rather inconvenient, I’ve been trying to reach you for an update on your new houseguest. Over.”_

            Nezumi tightened his hand around the walkie talkie. “Have you found a new place for him? You said this was temporary. Over.”

            _“Don’t tell me you two aren’t getting along. Over.”_

            “Do you have a new place or what? Over,” Nezumi said shortly.

            _“It’s not even been twenty-four hours. Don’t be so impatient, I’ve got other things on my plate a bit more important than finding a new cell for the hostage. He should be fine at your place for a little bit. I didn’t think babysitting would be so difficult for you. Over.”_

            Nezumi shook his head even though the woman could not see him. “Saya, you said it was temporary. That’s what you said. Over.”

            _“I know what I said, Nezumi. Over.”_

“I’m not housing this guy long-term. Do you understand? Get him out of here, or I’ll let him go. I don’t give a shit about him. The Resistance Force doesn’t need him. Over.”

            _“The Resistance Force doesn’t need you either, Nezumi, and you’re still on the payroll. Resources are short for us, giving you a house was generous, but I did it because you asked. I’m asking you now to suck it up and watch over our little friend until I tell you otherwise. Don’t piss me off, Nezumi. I know you think you’re better than everyone else on the Force, but I’ll gladly remind you that you’re not. You’re disposable just like the rest of them. Shape up your attitude and keep on your damn walkie talkie, I expect an update every night. Goodbye, Nezumi, this conversation is finished now. Over.”_

            Nezumi cursed and turned the walkie talkie off, not giving a damn that Saya demanded otherwise. He stood against the wall of his house and stared at the skyscrapers of the Gold District in the distance. Wondered what it might be like to own something that was his own, not to have to listen to some bullshit resistance leader who thought she was making a difference in order to have somewhere to live.

            He shook his head. Stopped wondering at once. They were useless thoughts he didn’t have time to entertain. He slammed back into the house, where Shion was sitting up, reading a book Nezumi had thrown at him hours before.

            _Macbeth._ Another light paperback. One of Nezumi’s favorites, though he hadn’t offered this information to Shion alongside the book.

            Shion looked up at the slam of the door. “Guess you can’t get rid of me,” he said quietly.

            “Shut up or I’ll break your nose completely this time,” Nezumi snapped before returning to the kitchen and trying to find some way to serve the hostage his soup that wasn’t in a bowl made of glass the guy could use in another tedious escape attempt.

*

Shion ate the soup that Nezumi offered him in a large mixing bowl. The bowl seemed to be made of some sort of stainless steel. Nothing Shion could smash, and he almost smiled when Nezumi came out of the kitchen with it and a wooden spoon.

            “Why can’t I have a normal spoon?” Shion asked, on being presented with it.

            “I don’t trust you with normal spoons.”

            “I can’t cut through rope with a spoon.”

            “I thought you weren’t going to eat anyway,” Nezumi muttered, while Shion took the bowl from him.

            “I changed my mind,” Shion said. In truth, after eating the bread and jam that morning he’d only felt hungrier than before. He decided it was best to keep his strength up. He was already working on another escape attempt, and only needed more information from Nezumi.

            The soup was a little salty, but otherwise good. It surprised Shion that Nezumi could cook. Nezumi ate in the kitchen. He’d spent most of the day in the kitchen. Shion had a feeling Nezumi didn’t like seeing him tied to his bed, especially with his shirt nearly covered in blood from his nose that he’d finally managed to staunch an hour or so before.

            His assumptions were proven after Nezumi finished washing the empty bowl and wooden mixing spoon Shion had set on the floor beside the bed after he finished eating. Nezumi came out with a dishtowel in his hands and looked at Shion from the doorway.

            Shion looked up from _Macbeth_ and watched Nezumi look at him. He could tell Nezumi liked _Macbeth._ The paperback was incredibly worn, as if it had gone through many rereads. There were scribblings in the corners of the pages that Shion had tried to make out, but Nezumi’s handwriting was atrocious. Almost every page corner had creases, as if it had been folded down at some point.

            Nezumi disappeared into the kitchen again. Returned without the dishtowel. Went to the clothing he had in piles on his floor. He didn’t have a dresser. He didn’t have any furniture but a bed and couch and bookshelf. The room was smaller than a quarter of Shion’s bedroom had been at his home in the Gold District. From the window, Shion could see familiar buildings from the Gold District. He wondered what Nezumi thought of this view.

            Nezumi stopped rummaging through his clothing. Stood with a grey t-shirt in his hands. Walked over to Shion, who folded down the corner of a page of _Macbeth._

He’d never been one to fold corners of pages, but it had been previously folded. Shion was careful to fold it down on the same crease that already existed.

            “Can you put this on?” Nezumi asked.

            Shion wondered why he didn’t just demand it. He didn’t know what to do with the option. He hated that Nezumi had offered one.

            Shion was a hostage. He didn’t have a choice in anything. Nezumi had already made that clear. To give him a choice now was infuriating. It wasn’t a real choice. They both knew that.

            “No,” Shion said, to test him. His nose still throbbed. His cheek pounded like a heartbeat.

            “I can wash your shirt and give it back. Just wear this for now.”

            “You can’t wash blood out after you’ve let it set.”

            “What do you know about blood stains?” Nezumi asked. He did not sound angry. He sounded tired.

            “I know you can’t wash them out after you’ve let them set,” Shion replied easily.

            Nezumi looked away from him. Stared at the ceiling. His long, dark hair was braided now, slung over his right shoulder. Shion was amazed by it. Wanted to touch it, and kept his hands by his sides.

            “Do you have more of those syringes?” Shion asked, while Nezumi continued not to look at him.

            “No,” Nezumi said to the ceiling.

            “You must.”

            “I don’t.”

            “Where did you get the serum for it? What is it anyway? I’m a chemist back home, this interests me.”

            Nezumi peered at him then, his eyes squinted. “I made it.”

            “No, you didn’t,” Shion argued.

            Nezumi tilted his head. Looked at Shion in that way he did. Shion wished he was still looking at the ceiling. “I know why you’re asking.”

            “Why am I asking?” Shion asked. His skin was hot. His heart beat too loudly. His face hurt more than he could bear.

            “You want to stick me with it. You want time to escape.”

            “I’m tied to the bed. You won’t let me eat from anything glass. I can’t escape.”

            “Sure, you can. You just have to figure out how,” Nezumi said, as if he didn’t care one way or the other.

            Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he thought no matter what Shion tried, he could stop him.

            Nezumi was wrong. Shion didn’t know what he was going to do yet, but he knew Nezumi was wrong.

            Shion wrapped his arms around his stomach. Took deep breaths. He couldn’t give up.

            “Just put on the shirt, Shion,” Nezumi said, his voice soft, and Shion closed his eyes.

            “I need to use the bathroom.”

            Nezumi didn’t reply. Shion didn’t open his eyes.

            “Number two this time,” he added quietly.

            “Okay,” Nezumi said.

            “You’re going to watch?”

            “It’ll be less fun for me than for you,” Nezumi said dryly, and Shion opened his eyes to see that Nezumi had walked away, was back with the rope with which to tie his legs.

            “You don’t have to.”

            “Try not to protest unnecessarily.”

            “You don’t have to do any of this,” Shion said, unable to help himself, knowing he’d said it before and it would only make Nezumi angry, but he couldn’t stop trying, he couldn’t stop saying it.

            Nezumi tied his legs too tightly. The rope dug through his jeans into his ankles. Shion winced. Nezumi said nothing as he untied Shion’s wrist.

            In the bathroom, Shion sat on the toilet and stared at his bare knees. “Do you have to stare?” he asked his knees.

            “You’ve admitted several times that you’re cooking up another escape attempt. Yes, I have to watch you. I’m sure you understand that.”

            “I’ll never be able to go like this.”

            Nezumi said nothing, and then the faucet was running, which wasn’t entirely helpful, but Shion supposed it was better than before.

            Shion closed his eyes and pretended he was somewhere else.

*

Nezumi couldn’t sleep. Shion was crying softly as he had the night before, and after an hour, Nezumi got off the couch and left the house.

            It was raining outside. Nezumi stood in the storm and looked up at the sky as best he could, having to squint, seeing nothing at all. His clothing soaked. He had to let Shion go. He knew this. He’d have to return to stealing for a living and sleeping in alleyways and broken down houses where the other homeless slept. He closed his eyes.

            He didn’t know how long he stayed outside, but when he returned to the house, Shion was silent.

            Nezumi undressed. Dried himself with a towel. Put on dry clothes. Shion still wore his bloody shirt. Nezumi considered just yanking it off the hostage, but he didn’t like to touch Shion. It was bad enough having to untie and retie him every time the guy needed to use the bathroom.

            Nezumi didn’t return to the couch. He sat at his kitchen table and watched a mug of tea cool in front of him. He continued to stare at it until he heard his name being called in a whisper.

            He got up. Found Shion sitting up. His face was dry, but his eyes were wet.

            “Can I call my mother? Just to let her know I’m alive,” Shion said. His voice was small.

            “I don’t have a phone,” Nezumi replied. He didn’t know if he’d have let Shion call his mother if he did have one. It was a relief, not to have to decide.

            “Oh,” Shion said. He laid back down. Curled in a ball, back to Nezumi, the way he’d slept the night before.

            Nezumi looked at him for a minute, then returned to the kitchen. He sat with his elbows on the table and his head in his hands and waited for morning.

*

In the morning, Shion touched his face. It itched alongside the throb of his bruise. He felt the shadow of his beard beginning to grow.

            Nezumi was not on the couch. Shion picked up _Macbeth,_ which he’d left under his pillow as he’d slept. He had finished an entire act before Nezumi returned from wherever he’d gone, looking windswept.

            His hair was in a ponytail today. He nodded at Shion on walking in, as if it was a normal occurrence to walk in and find a hostage on his bed.

            “Have you been up long? Sorry,” Nezumi said, coming to the bed and tying Shion’s ankles. He had a grocery bag slung over his wrist.

            Shion didn’t say anything. Watched Nezumi untie his wrist, and then Nezumi was leading Shion to the bathroom, where Shion peed.

            After he washed his hands, Nezumi dug into the grocery bag. Produced a toothbrush. Opened the package and set the toothbrush – red, when Nezumi’s was green – on the side of the sink.

            “If you want,” Nezumi said. Another option. Shion didn’t want to brush his teeth in Nezumi’s bathroom. He wanted to brush his teeth in his own bathroom.

            Shion picked up the toothbrush. “I could stab you in the eye with this,” he said.

            Nezumi’s smile was tired. He had dark circles under his eyes. He hadn’t returned to the couch after he’d left to stand in the rain the night before. “Try to refrain,” Nezumi said.

            Shion did not smile back. He squeezed toothpaste onto the toothbrush and brushed his teeth. Glanced at his face in the mirror above the sink, which he hadn’t done previously.

            He looked awful. His stubble was white and aged him. The side of his face was a dull purple. There was dried blood on his upper lip, and Shion washed his face, scrubbed it off with his fingertips, looked back up at his dripping skin.

            His eyes were rimmed red. His hair flattened and greasy. He lifted a hand to touch it briefly, then dropped his hand again to touch his stubble.

            “I can shave you, but I have to tie your hands behind your back,” Nezumi said.

            “Is there a razor in that bag?” Shion asked, looking at the bag from which Nezumi had produced the toothbrush.

            “Yes,” Nezumi said.

            Shion wondered what he would do, if he got ahold of it. If he would kill Nezumi now. If his mind had changed from the day before. It felt like more than a day. It felt like weeks. He wondered if Nezumi could tell that Shion had changed, or if Shion had not changed at all, if it was just in his head but when he actually had the razor in his hands, it’d be just as useless there as the shard of the glass plate had been.

            “Okay. You can shave me,” Shion said. He was too tired to argue. He didn’t like having stubble, and wanted it off. He didn’t want Nezumi touching him or shaving him, but he didn’t want to be here at all.

            He wasn’t going to get what he wanted. He understood this now. Until he escaped, this was his life.

            Nezumi escorted Shion into the kitchen, where he produced more rope from a drawer. He tied Shion’s wrists behind his back before taking him back to the bathroom, where Shion sat on the closed toilet lid and Nezumi sat on the ledge of his tub across from him. He had brought a small bowl from the kitchen that he filled with water, and took a bottle shaving cream from the cabinet under the sink to place by Shion’s feet. He opened the razor from the grocery bag and dipped it in the bowl of water. He pooled shaving cream in his palm and touched it with two of his fingers, then spread it over Shion’s face.

            His fingers were cool. Shion watched Nezumi’s expression. His grey concentration. Eyes flitting around Shion’s face, following where Shion felt Nezumi’s fingers touch. They were gentler on the side of his face with the bruise from Nezumi’s fist.

            Nezumi wet the razor again before tapping it on the edge of the bowl. He lifted it, pressed the blade to Shion’s cheek. One hand wrapped under Shion’s chin while the other pulled the razor over his skin. Shion could hear his own heartbeat. He felt angry. He felt incredibly calm. He felt more than he had in his entire life collectively, all at once.

            He reminded himself that Nezumi was a bad person. He let his rage overtake everything else he felt. His wrists pulled at the rope that bound them.

            “You should kill me,” Shion said, while Nezumi rinsed the razor in the bowl of water.

            Nezumi’s gaze lifted from Shion’s cheek to his eyes. Watched him, then returned to look at Shion’s cheek that he continued to shave.

            “Why would I do that?” he asked, after Shion had assumed Nezumi was going to ignore him.

            “Then you wouldn’t have to deal with me. And Saya might forgive you. Chalk it up to a crime of true hatred. I’m a spoiled Gold District brat, isn’t that what you called me? You detested me so much you killed me by accident. Saya would probably understand.”

            Nezumi rinsed the razor again. “You shouldn’t talk while I do this. I don’t want to cut you.”

            “Why not? You don’t care about me. I doubt you’ve ever cared about anyone in your life.”

            Nezumi’s fingers underneath Shion’s chin flinched. He paused in shaving, then continued a moment later. His fingers were no longer cool, but warm.

            After two minutes passed, Shion knew Nezumi wasn’t going to reply. It didn’t altogether surprise him, but it made him angrier. Shion welcomed the anger. Had never hated anyone in his life, and it was a thrilling feeling. Warmed him completely. Lit up his insides like livewire, lightning. Electricity.

            When Nezumi finished, he got up with the razor, disappeared, came back without it and untied Shion’s wrists. Shion washed his face at the sink and looked at himself. Nezumi had done a good job. He hadn’t even nicked anywhere, hadn’t missed a spot.

            After Nezumi tied him back to the bed, he took his walkie talkie and left the house again. Shion waited to hear his voice from the other side of the door, but there was nothing but silence. He waited for what had to be at least ten minutes, though he couldn’t be sure, then returned to _Macbeth,_ finishing it before Nezumi came home and turning back to the first page to read it again.

*

When Nezumi returned home in the middle of the night, he expected Shion to be asleep.

            The hostage was sitting up, watching him as he came through the door.

            “Where were you?” Shion asked.

            Nezumi toed off his boots and went to the bed, picked up the empty water cup from the side of it and went to the kitchen to refill it. When he placed it back beside the bed and stood up again, Shion was holding out _Macbeth._

            “I finished it. Can I have a different one?”

            Nezumi took it. Went to the bookshelf. Examined his paperbacks for something thin. Chose _The Great Gatsby_ and tossed it to the bed before going to the bathroom to shower.

            He took a cold shower. Was shivering by the end of it. Had forgotten to bring a change of clothes, and wrapped a towel around his waist before he returned to the bedroom, rummaged through his piles for something clean.

            Shion didn’t speak until Nezumi was dressed in a t-shirt and sweats.

            “You have a burn scar on your back.”

            Nezumi rubbed his towel through his hair. Tried to dry it. Still felt cold.

            “Is it from the Great Fire that ravaged the southern border area? I was seven when it happened. I remember my mother was really angry. She told me when I was older that the fire was lit by people from our district who thought it was a better idea to get rid of the border area, that the people there were different from us and didn’t deserve to live.”

            “Shion, I really don’t want to talk to you,” Nezumi said. He worked to keep his voice even. He didn’t need the hostage analyzing him. Trying to find a reason for his actions. Trying to make his past have anything to do with his present.

            It didn’t. Nezumi was surviving. It had nothing to do with the past.

            “That’s why you’re doing this.”

            “Shion.”

            “I was trying to figure it out. I think you’re supposed to be a good person. I think you want to be, and I guessed it had to be something like this. Something had to have happened to you. That’s why you’re like this.” 

            Nezumi took the towel from his hair. Returned to the bathroom to hang it on his hook. Went to the kitchen and put on water to boil. Stared down at the water and pressed his fingers to his temples and tried not to think about anything at all.

            When the water boiled, he didn’t take it off the stove. Watched it rise. Watched the bubbles overflow from the pot. They ran down the sides and sizzled when they hit the fire below the pot.

            Nezumi picked up the pot and dumped the water down the sink. Steam rose in a rush, and the sound of the water fizzling was loud. He threw the empty pot in the sink and turned off the stove. His watch said it was past one in the morning. He was exhausted. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to fall asleep again with Shion tied to his bed.

            The steam slowly dissipated from the kitchen. Nezumi dug his nails into the side of the counter. Closed his eyes. Tried to take a deep breath but couldn’t, his inhale stuck in his throat, and then he was opening his eyes, leaving the kitchen, returning to the bed where Shion was drinking water out of the plastic cup Nezumi gave him now instead of glass.

            Shion lowered the cup from his lips. Nezumi took the cup from him and put it on the floor so he could grab Shion’s wrist.

            Shion jerked back from him.

            “What are you doing?” he asked.

            “Untying you,” Nezumi said, and Shion stopped pulling.

            “I don’t need to pee.”

            Nezumi’s fingers fumbled over the rope. He couldn’t loosen the knot. He yanked on it and heard Shion’s gasp, so he dropped it and went to the kitchen, got a knife, brought it back to the bedroom.

            “Nezumi – ”

            Nezumi cut the rope. Stood back. Gestured to the door.

            “Get out.”

            “What?”

            “You’re not a hostage anymore. Get out of my house.”

            Shion didn’t move from the bed. “Did Saya say you could let me go?”

            “No.”

            “But – ”

            “This isn’t a trick, Shion. I’m letting you go. So go. No one’s going to come after you.”

            Shion stared. Slid off the bed and walked to the front door. Nezumi remembered he didn’t have shoes. Considered offering the guy a pair. It was the middle of the night. Nezumi didn’t know where Shion was going to go, but that wasn’t his responsibility.

            He didn’t have to take care of Shion. He was letting him go, and he didn’t owe him any more than that.

            Shion stood at the door with his hand on the knob. He looked back at Nezumi with wide eyes.

            Nezumi hoped he wouldn’t say anything. Hoped he would just leave, just go, just get the hell out.

            “I’m sorry about the fire and whatever you lost in it,” Shion said, and then he opened the door, and then he walked out in just his socks, and then he closed it.

            Nezumi stared at it, then at his empty bed. Walked closer to it and untied the rope around the bed post. Picked up _The Great Gatsby_ and tossed it behind him. Pulled off the blankets. Yanked off the fitted sheet and pillow case and brought it all to his washing machine, dumped more detergent than he needed to after the bedsheets, and turned the machine on.

            He returned to his bed, stripped bare, and stared at it as if his hostage might suddenly appear the longer he looked.

*

It was the middle of the night, and Shion had no idea where he was.

            He needed a phone and a car.

            Nezumi’s house was surrounded by nothing at all. There was no car, which meant Nezumi must have walked to wherever he went during the day, including the grocery store. Shion walked along the road until he found a deserted market. He walked amongst its stands, then returned to the road. Continued walking. He was at the edge of the border area, and the more he walked, the larger the Gold District loomed in his view.

            He didn’t know how long it would take to reach it, but it was the only place he had to go.

*


	3. Chapter 3

Three days passed since Nezumi’d let the hostage go, and there was a knock on the door.

            For a bizarre moment, Nezumi almost wondered if it was Shion.

            “Nezumi! Open the door!”

            Nezumi sighed. Got up from the couch where he’d been sleeping. His watch told him it was nearly eleven at night. He hadn’t slept on the bed since Shion left. He didn’t think he’d be able to again.

            When he opened the door, Saya shoved her way in.

            “Come in,” Nezumi said.

            “You’re a pain in the ass, not turning on your walkie talkie. And I see your hostage isn’t here. Do you know where he is?”

            Saya did not seem surprised at not finding the hostage in Nezumi’s house. Angry, but not surprised.

            Nezumi closed his front door. “No.”

            “I know where he is,” Saya said.

            Nezumi didn’t know what this meant. Hoped it didn’t mean what he thought it did.

            “Why did you let him go?” Saya asked. Her voice was calm, but she wasn’t. Nezumi could see her rage clearly in the set of her eyes.

            “Where is he?”

            “Why did you let him go?” Saya asked again.

            Nezumi contemplated her. “He was a nuisance.”

            “I’m disappointed in you, Nezumi.”

            “Sorry to hear that.”

            “Whose side are you on? Because if you’re not with us, you’re on their side. The Gold District’s side. Is that the side you’re on?”

            Nezumi forced himself not to roll his eyes. He walked past Saya into his kitchen and glanced into his empty mug of tea, not remembering having finished it.

            “There’s a reason you’re here, Nezumi. None of the other guards were handpicked like you. They volunteered. But I wanted you. I looked for you for months before I found you.”

            Nezumi took the mug to the sink. Washed it. He could have offered Saya a drink, but opted not to. He didn’t want her lingering.

            “Rumors that one person survived the Great Fire. Rumors that he was just a kid, but now he was a man, strong, ruthless. Rumors that he lived on the street, but he wasn’t weak like the other homeless people of the border area. Rumors that he was angry. I thought you’d be bloodthirsty. I thought you’d want vengeance. I thought you’d be perfect for what the Resistance Force is trying to do.”

            “Guess you thought wrong,” Nezumi said, washing suds off the mug.

            “Don’t you hate them? These people killed your family, Nezumi.” Saya was right beside him. Nezumi wanted her to move away.

            “And your solution is to take them hostage? What is that going to do? What the hell is taking a kid like Shion supposed to do for you? For anyone in the border areas? They’re never going to pay, Saya. They’re never going to give you want you want if you ask them like this.”

            “How should I ask them, Nezumi?”

            Nezumi turned to her. Placed the washed mug on the counter. “You don’t ask. You take it back. This peaceful citizen-holding scheme you’ve got going is bullshit. You need to go into the Gold District and kick them out of their houses that we built. That city doesn’t belong to them. You take the city, you don’t take the people.”

            “Their military is stronger than any people we’ve got,” Saya said calmly.

            Nezumi shook his head. Pushed his fingers through his bangs. “Then we build a better military. How are hostages supposed to fix anything? Four hostages – five with Shion, fine – they don’t give a shit about the hostages.”

            “Has it occurred to you that taking hostages isn’t the entire plan? That perhaps I don’t share everything with you?”

            “Oh, yeah? Then what’s next in this great plan of yours?” Nezumi demanded, and Saya smiled.

            “A special delivery.”

            Nezumi squinted, and Saya’s smile grew before she turned away from Nezumi, beckoning with her hand over her shoulder for him to follow her.

            Nezumi walked after her back to the front door, then out of it to her car.

            “I believe you lost something that belonged to you,” Saya said, before opening the back door of her car.

            Shion sat with his hands and legs tied, tape over his mouth, and a patch of his shirt red.

            It was not the bloodied shirt he’d worn as Nezumi’s hostage. It was a different shirt, because the front was white and clean, but the sleeve was bloody, and beneath it, Nezumi could see bandages had been wrapped.

            Nezumi had to put more effort than usual to keep his expression blank.

            “Why did you let him go, Nezumi?” Saya asked.

            Nezumi couldn’t look away from him, but Shion was staring resolutely at the back of the seat in front of him. “How did you know?”

            “I didn’t. He came crawling back to the compound this morning. I think the kid likes captivity. Some people are into bondage, I’ve heard.”

            Nezumi shoved his hands deep into his pockets. He felt jittery. Electric. Wrong.

            “Here’s how it’s going to go. I had high expectations for you, Nezumi, and I don’t want to give up on you. I’m going to give you a second chance to keep our friend safe and sound in your captivity. I would like nightly updates on the walkie talkie, and that is not negotiable. If I find this hostage again outside of your house and watchful eye, I won’t be so easy on him. Do you understand?”

            Nezumi looked at her, ignoring the tightening of his throat. “I don’t care what you do to him.”

            Saya smile was smaller this time, the lightest lift of her lips. “I do admire your poker face, but I’m not as stupid as you seem to want to think I am. You won’t answer why you let him go, and I don’t need you to.”

            Nezumi stepped back as Saya reached into her car. She pulled Shion out by the arm. He stumbled and nearly fell, but Nezumi didn’t step forward to catch him.

            Shion regained his balance on his own, leaning back against the side of the car. He looked at Nezumi, then, and Nezumi looked immediately away from him.

            “I’m not keeping him. I’m out of the Resistance Force. Take the house. Find someone else to guard him. I don’t care, I’m not doing this.”

            “Don’t be silly,” Saya said, already on the other side of the car, the door by the driver’s seat open.

            “I’m not working for you anymore.”

            Saya laughed. “Okay, Nezumi. You don’t want him, that’s fine. Leave him here to die. Or untie him, and let me find him again.”

            “Just get someone else to do this,” Nezumi snapped.

            “No, thank you. I looked for you for a long time. I need someone on my side who has every reason to hate the Gold District, the very best reason to hate the Gold District. I need someone with a stamp on their back so that they can’t ever lose that hatred, even if they do forget about it for a little bit,” Saya said, with a pointed look at Shion.

            Nezumi did not know how Saya knew about the burn on his back. He didn’t care. “The entire population of the border areas hates the Gold District. Get someone else.”

            “It’s been your destiny to take down the Gold District since you were a little boy, Nezumi. Don’t run from that,” Saya said, and then she was in her car, and her door was closing.

            When the engine started, Shion hopped away from the car, and then he was falling, and Saya’s car was pulling away, and Nezumi didn’t catch the hostage who fell at his feet.

            He stared down at Shion. Thought about leaving him, and then he did leave him.

            Returned to his house. The kitchen. Grabbed a knife, went back outside, and crouched down beside Shion to cut off the ropes.

            He took the tape from Shion’s lips last. Watched Shion sit up and rub his wrists. They were bleeding from the rope.

            “What the hell is wrong with you?” Nezumi demanded, but his voice came out quieter than he’d intended.

            “I wasn’t going to let them keep Safu and the others locked up. I said I’d keep trying to free them, and I’m not going to stop,” Shion said shortly, standing up. “Thanks for freeing me again.”

            “Where are you going?” Nezumi asked, as Shion had started walking away from him.

            “Back to the compound.”

            Nezumi gaped at Shion’s back. The guy was walking too slowly. Nezumi glanced again at his bloodstained sleeve and the bandage beneath it.

            “Did you go directly to the compound after I let you go?”

            “I went home to make sure my mother knew I was alive. And I took a shower and got my car. Then I went to the compound.”

            Nezumi shook his head. “You’re injured. What happened to you?”

            “Got grazed by a bullet, it’s fine. Saya bandaged it.”

            “You lost blood, you look like you’re going to pass out.”

            Shion glanced back at him. “Do you have a car somewhere? How do you get to the compound from here?”

            “You’re not going back there.”

            “I don’t see how that’s up to you.”

            “Saya will kill you. Or order the guards to kill you. Someone’s going to kill you.”

            “I have to take that risk,” Shion said, shrugging and then wincing and then walking away again.

            Nezumi followed him. Caught up easily. Grabbed Shion’s uninjured arm, jerked him around, and Shion fell against him, pushed himself from Nezumi’s chest, tried to pull his arm free but he was weak, and it was painfully obvious.

            “What? Are you seriously going to take me hostage again?” Shion asked, still trying to pull his arm free.

            “Will you stop for two seconds? You really think you’re in any shape to storm the compound? You look like you’re going to pass out.”

            “Let go of me – ”

            “Your Majesty, calm down. Stop fighting. Take a breath and think for a minute.”

            “Get off!” Shion shouted, so Nezumi let go of him, and he stumbled back before falling on his ass.

            Nezumi watched him shove himself up from the ground. “Shion.”

            “I have to save Safu. I have to get them out. There’s nothing else to think about.”

            “Sure, there is. You can think about how you’re going to get murdered the second you walk into the compound. You can think about how you were caught immediately the first time, am I right? How long did it take for someone to shoot at you?”

            Shion shook his head. Stepped back from Nezumi. There was a line of blood dripping from his bandaged wound down the pale of his arm.

            “If you go like this, you’ll die. That’s it. There’s no other option. You’re not going to save anyone tonight. How will you even get there? What’s your plan, Shion? This is your problem, you do these things and you never stop to think, you never make a plan, that’s why they never work. Remember when you had that shard of glass to my neck? You should have bested me, but you didn’t. You don’t think.”

            “And what do you do? You kidnap people and take them hostage!”

            “Successfully, might I point out,” Nezumi said mildly. Shion seemed to be swaying on his feet. Nezumi wondered how he could coax the guy inside, make him a cup of tea, rebandage his wound.

            “I got away after not even three full nights,” Shion countered.

            “I let you go. There’s a difference. Come inside, it’s late, I’m sure you’re tired.”

            “I’m not going in there again.”

            “And I’m not letting you go kill yourself tonight. Try not to be difficult.”

            “What are you going to do about it? You’re going to take me hostage? The only way I’m going inside your house again is against my will,” Shion said, his voice hard, and Nezumi studied him, then sighed.

            He really hadn’t wanted to take the guy hostage again. It was annoying, that Shion seemed to find it necessary to make him do so.

            “All right, all right. Go ahead. Rescue your girlfriend and your friends. Somehow dodge every bullet that will be shot at you. Good luck,” Nezumi said, lifting his hands and stepping away from Shion, who narrowed his eyes.

            “I don’t need your good luck.”

            “Okay, I take it back,” Nezumi said, his lips turning up, and then Shion was turning away from him, walking again to the main road.

            Nezumi shook his head. Turned and walked back to his house. Went to the kitchen, replaced the knife he’d taken, and opened the bottom drawer. Pulled out a syringe and left the kitchen again, careful to slip out his front door silently.

            It was easy to catch up to Shion, who’d only walked a few yards away. Nezumi was soon beside him, and spoke softly so as not to startle him, offering Shion the same line he gave to every captive he kidnapped –

            “Everything is going to be all right. Don’t panic,” he whispered, then slipped the syringe into Shion’s good arm and pressed the plunger.

            Shion immediately went limp, and Nezumi caught him, adjusted the guy in his arms, was alarmed by how light he was as he carried him back to his house.

            He set Shion back on his bed and returned to the kitchen for rope to tie him up, trying not to dwell on how familiar the act had become.

*

Shion woke groggily. His arm throbbed. He turned to look at it and first noted that he was not wearing his own shirt.

            He had been wearing a white shirt. The shirt he wore now was grey. Shion sat up, then was distracted by the blue rope around his wrist, and the cut sock beneath the cord.

            Shion looked around wildly. He was on Nezumi’s bed. There were sounds coming from the kitchen. His heart beat so loudly he thought it’d leave his chest. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. For a moment Shion wondered if he’d ever left, but then the throbbing of his arm reminded him of his original intention on waking, and he glanced at it.

            The wound Shion had received from a bullet at the compound had been rebandaged. The new bandage was wrapped tighter, more securely. Shion touched it briefly, then peered over the bed, and there were two pills sitting on a napkin on the floor beside a Post-It that read – _Take if your arm hurts. I gave you stitches while you were sleeping._ A plastic cup of water sat beside the pills. Shion stared at them, then reached out, took the pills and the water, downed the entire cup.

            He laid back down and stared at the ceiling. Listened to the noises from the kitchen. Something smelled like curry. He could guess Nezumi was cooking. He lifted his wrist above his face, examined the knot Nezumi had tied, but he’d examined it several times before.

            It was a strange, complicated knot. He’d seen Nezumi tie and untie it countless times and still couldn’t figure it out.

            He was still trying to remember exactly what Nezumi’s thin fingers did over the cords when he fell asleep again, and woke to find Nezumi beside him, holding his hand.

            Shion pulled it back immediately. “What are you doing?”

            “Your wrists are cut from when Saya bound you,” Nezumi said, looking unfazed as usual.

            Shion sat up. “Let me go.”

            “Are you going to return to the compound?”

            “That’s my choice, not yours.”

            “See, the problem is if I just let you go fully aware you’ll march off there to your death, I’ll feel responsible when you die.”

            “I’m letting you off the hook. You’re in no way responsible for anything that happens to me. Now let me go,” Shion snapped.

            “You should eat something.”

            “What exactly do you think you’re doing? Taking care of me? Being a good person? Righting your wrongs? Doing me a favor? Paying your debt? You’re not doing any of that. You’re taking me hostage, again, and nothing has changed from before.”

            Nezumi tucked his hair behind his ears. It was down, around his shoulders. Wet, as if he’d showered recently. He wasn’t wearing his watch.

            “That was a nice spiel. Does it feel good to get that off your chest? I hope so, because I don’t care to hear more of it. Are you hungry? I made curry. It’s mostly potatoes, but I didn’t realize I was going to have company tonight.”

            “What time is it?”

            Nezumi shrugged. “Probably just past two in the morning. The serum usually knocks people out for around three hours. I wouldn’t usually condone eating at such a late hour, but you’re too thin for your own good. Your body needs energy for your wound to heal.”

            Shion ground his teeth. Tried to understand the man in front of him. The wet of his hair had stained the shoulders of his t-shirt a darker blue than the rest of the fabric.

            “Why did you let me go?” Shion asked. The same thing Saya had asked. The same thing Nezumi hadn’t answered.

            Saya had said she didn’t need to know the answer, but Shion did. He didn’t understand it. He hadn’t understood as Nezumi had cut his ropes three nights before, and he still didn’t understand now, back in Nezumi’s bed with more rope around his wrist.

            Nezumi blinked. His eyes were soft, as if it were early morning, and Shion supposed it was. “I told you from the beginning. I didn’t want you here.”

            “It took you nearly three days to let me go.”

            “Guess I’m a slow learner.”

            “How long will it take this time?”

            The soft of Nezumi’s expression was swept away by an abrupt hardness. “You’re not a hostage, Shion. You’re here because it’s stupid to just go to the compound and try to save your friends, but you don’t seem to realize that, and until you do, this is the safest place for you.”

            “This isn’t safety! This is captivity!” Shion shouted.

            “Don’t shout, you should be resting.”

            “You said you weren’t one of them, the Resistance Force, but you are. You’re just as bad. You’re worse, even, because you think you’re better than them,” Shion hissed.

            Nezumi exhaled deeply. “I guess you’re not going to eat anything.”

            “If I start screaming, will that convince you that this is wrong? What do I need to do? Am I too cooperative? Is that the problem? Is that why you think we’re friends or something?” Shion asked. His voice felt hoarse. He was so exhausted. His arm throbbed more even though he’d taken whatever pills Nezumi had left. They were probably poisonous. He had no idea why he’d taken them, why he would ever trust Nezumi.

            “You’re not too cooperative, don’t worry,” Nezumi muttered, bending down to pick up the plastic cup Shion had emptied and leaving again.

            He was back too soon. He’d brought the cup refilled with water, and Shion held his hand out for it, threw the water at Nezumi’s face the moment Nezumi gave it to him.

            “What the fuck?” Nezumi shouted, stepping back.

            “Don’t bring me water!” Shion shouted back. “Don’t pretend to be decent!”

            “You’re being unnecessarily hostile,” Nezumi snapped.

            “I’m being hostile?” Shion yelled.

            “Shit, Shion, you want me to let you go? I know the compound. I know the guards, and they know me. I know the security cameras. I can turn them off. I have resources and intel that you don’t. I can help you save your friends, but first we need to make a plan, and do this right, and let you recover, or you’ll just kill yourself, all right? Stop being such a brat, it’s fucking annoying and childish and seriously getting on my nerves. You make it extremely difficult not to hit you in the face, do you realize that?”

            Drops of water were dripping off Nezumi’s eyelashes. He swiped his hand over his face. The water wet his lips. Clumped dark strands of his bangs together. Shion wanted to reach out. Push them off from Nezumi’s forehead, but Nezumi beat him to it, long fingers shoving the strands back.

            “You want to help free the hostages you caught?” Shion asked, after a moment of absorbing Nezumi’s fast and angry words.

            Nezumi shook his head. Looked away from Shion. “I don’t give a shit about the people from your district. But if I don’t help you, you’ll be hopeless, and you’ll get yourself killed.”

            “Why do you care if I get myself killed if you don’t give a shit about me?” Shion asked. It was, in his opinion, a reasonable question, but Nezumi looked at him as if it was anything but.

            “Do you have to protest? Can you never just silently agree?”

            “You’ve tied me to your bed, not for the first time. I’m having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that you want to help me.”

            Nezumi wiped at his face again. There was water on the front of his shirt. There was water on the longer strands of his hair that framed his face. There was a drop of water on the side of his jaw, dripping down.

            “You’re not a hostage this time,” Nezumi said.

            “Then what am I?” Shion challenged.

            Nezumi threw his hands up. “A guest. How about that? And a terrible one, what kind of guest throws water on their host? Disgusting etiquette,” he muttered, turning away from Shion and walking to his piles of clothes, pulling off his t-shirt and throwing it to the side, looking for a new one.

            Shion sat up to look at the curve of Nezumi’s back. The burn in the center of it. It was a large scar. Shion could tell the burn had been deep. His skin was twisted, discolored, a dark and warped and hardened stain. Shion wondered what it might feel like, if he were to touch it.

            Nezumi pulled on another shirt. One without water that had been thrown onto it. He didn’t look at Shion before he went back into the kitchen, and this time, he didn’t return.

            Shion laid back, waited for him. Thought over Nezumi’s words. Tried to digest them.

            He didn’t understand why Nezumi would want to help him, but he didn’t understand much about Nezumi. He didn’t know if he believed him, but he couldn’t see why Nezumi would lie.

            He fell asleep again, trying to unravel the thick uncertainty that shadowed his captor.

*

Nezumi couldn’t sleep.

            He watched Shion from the doorway of the kitchen after the man fell asleep. He realized what he was doing and immediately stopped watching Shion. He paced the kitchen, then found himself in the bedroom. Sitting on the couch. Watching Shion until he noticed again, cursed under his breath, got up and shoved his feet in his boots and left the house altogether.

            He was outside to see the sun rise. Sat against his front door and watched the sky repaint itself in different shades of watercolor until it settled on the palest blue. Nezumi tilted his head back against the door. Closed his eyes.

            He didn’t know why he’d told Shion he was going to help him free the hostages at the compound. He didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t know how Shion was back in his house, tied to his bed again.

            He didn’t know. He was tired, and he didn’t know.

            Nezumi fell asleep against his closed door. Woke as he was sliding down it. Sat up abruptly, then stood and pushed the bottoms of his palms against his eyes. He breathed deeply, then let himself back in his house. Closed the door behind him. Blinked at Shion, who was sitting up, looking at him.

            “Morning,” Nezumi mumbled.

            “I have to pee,” Shion said.

            Nezumi nodded. Went to his side, untied the rope around Shion’s wrist. Realized too late he’d forgotten to tie a rope around Shion’s legs, and then Shion was off the bed, and Nezumi was noticing what he’d done, what he’d forgotten to do, and he waited to see if Shion would run.

            “You forgot to tie my legs,” Shion pointed out.

            “Yeah,” Nezumi agreed.

            “I could run.”

            “You could.”

            “Are you really going to help me free the other hostages?”

            Nezumi pushed his bangs from his face. Shion’s face was still bruised. It was a faded green. The night before, Nezumi had changed Shion out of his bloodied shirt before stitching his wound and rebandaging it. The scar on Shion’s neck wrapped around his torso. Disappeared into the waistband of his jeans. Nezumi had touched it where it crossed over Shion’s waist. The skin was raised. Rougher than the rest of Shion’s skin. Nezumi had retracted his hand when he’d realized what he was doing. He’d gotten his own t-shirt and threaded Shion’s arms carefully through it, pulled the hem of it down so that none of Shion’s skin showed.

            “Yeah. I’m really going to help you free the other hostages,” Nezumi agreed. If he didn’t, Shion would do it alone, and he would die, and Nezumi didn’t want Shion to die.

            That was the only truth he had. He didn’t want Shion to die. What a silly reason. Nezumi didn’t understand it. He didn’t know Shion. The guy was a brat from the Gold District. Maybe not so much of a brat as Nezumi had anticipated, but he was still from the Gold District. Nezumi reminded himself that there was no reason to give a shit about him.

            “Okay,” Shion said, and then he walked past Nezumi, went into the bathroom, and closed the door behind him.

            Nezumi looked at the rope in his hands. Was still looking at it minutes later when the bathroom door reopened.

            “Hey. Do you still have my razor? I can’t find it in here.”

            Nezumi nodded. Went to the kitchen. Found the razor he’d used to shave Shion four days before – was it only four days? – and brought it to the bathroom, handed it to Shion.

            “I could kill you with this,” Shion said, when he took it from Nezumi.

            Their fingers didn’t touch. Shion’s smile was light and easy, like he commonly joked with Nezumi, and Nezumi stared at it, was amazed by it, found himself wanting to touch it and shoved his hands in his pockets to dissuade any attempt.

            “I’d prefer if you didn’t,” Nezumi said, forcing himself to reply, and Shion laughed, completely unexpected. Nezumi blinked at the sound.

            Shion stepped back into the bathroom. Nezumi went to the kitchen to get away from him. The guy terrified him. It wasn’t the razor in his hand that was terrifying. Shion was supposed to hate him. That had made sense. Nezumi had kept him hostage, had tied him up, had hit him, had threatened him.

            Shion was not supposed to smile at him. Was not supposed to laugh like that, in a way Nezumi could still hear.

            Nezumi turned on the kitchen faucet just to make noise, to drown out the echo of the laugh. He turned it off after a minute and tested the silence warily.

            “Are you still going to bring me breakfast in bed now that I’m no longer a hostage?”

            Nezumi whipped around. Shion stood in the kitchen doorway, as if he had nowhere else to be.

            “You’re not going to tie me to the bed again, are you? I won’t run. If you trust me, I’ll trust you,” Shion said, and Nezumi squinted at him, confused.

            _Trust?_

            “I trust that you’ll help me. You’ll trust that I won’t run away and return to the compound until we come up with a solid plan,” Shion said, walking forward, enough steps until he was beside Nezumi, who leaned back from him.

            Shion looked like he was waiting for a response. Nezumi swallowed.

            “Okay,” he said, trying not to sound hesitant.

            “Promise?” Shion asked, and Nezumi nodded.

            He’d never made a promise before. It was just a word, really, but it was supposed to mean more. Nezumi wanted it to mean more.

            “Promise,” he repeated, and when Shion smiled, it was just as amazing as the first time.

*


	4. Chapter 4

Now that Shion was no longer a hostage, he tried to think of what he was, exactly, in Nezumi’s house.

            “A housemate,” Shion said, coming to a term he liked while he helped Nezumi prepare lunch.

            When Shion had asked what he could do to help, Nezumi seemed altogether opposed to the idea and told Shion he was better off resting since he’d lost a significant amount of blood from the bullet graze. Shion didn’t want to rest. He’d spent too much time, in his opinion, on Nezumi’s bed. He wanted to be active. He felt energized, renewed, knowing that Nezumi had switched sides and was going to help free the hostages at the compound. He’d even taken a shower, and Nezumi had lent him clean clothes.

            “What?” Nezumi asked. He was peeling garlic while Shion peeled shrimp at the sink. Shion had insisted he accompany Nezumi to the market. Their food selection was not even a fifth of the quality that Shion was used to in the Gold District, but he chose not to point this out.

            Shrimp, apparently, was a rarity in the market, and when Nezumi had mentioned he’d never had it before, Shion had forced him to buy some.

            “That’s what I am here now. I’ve been trying to think of a word for it. I’m your housemate.”

            Nezumi looked at him, then quickly looked back at the garlic. He’d seemed, since that morning that he’d untied Shion from the bed, nervous. Shion noted that Nezumi had begun to avoid looking at him for long periods of time, the way Nezumi had done previously.

            Shion understood, of course, that there was some awkwardness. Four days before, Shion had been a hostage here. But really, he’d only been a hostage for two and a half nights, not even three full days, and the entire time Nezumi had been reluctant to have a hostage at all. It should not have been that difficult to start over. To forget, and even forgive, which Shion felt that he’d already done, but he was hesitant to tell Nezumi this.

            He didn’t think Nezumi would react well, to being forgiven. Shion was still trying to figure the man out. He thought he knew a little as to why Nezumi was suddenly so uncomfortable. He’d been a better captor, really, than he was a housemate. Maybe he didn’t know how to be a housemate. Maybe it had been a long time since he’d had the voluntary company of another person.

            Shion had easily put together that Nezumi’s family had died in the Great Fire in the southern border area over seventeen years before. He didn’t seem to have friends, and he certainly didn’t seem to like anyone else on the Resistance Force. He was used to being alone, and now, with Shion, he was not.

            Shion tried to make the transition easy on him.

            “I feel bad that I’m not pitching in for any of the bills or groceries now that I’m your housemate rather than a hostage, for however temporarily I’ll be staying here. I don’t have my wallet with me, or my phone, but I could send a letter to my mother asking for her to take money out of my bank account for me and mail it. It’s probably best that I don’t go home until we free the other Gold District captives. Saya might have guards stationed on the route back to my house to make sure you don’t let me return home.”

            Nezumi scooped peels of garlic onto his palm. Overturned them in the trash, brushed his hands together to get the last bits off his skin. Shion moved to the side of the sink so Nezumi could wash his hands. Nezumi’s elbow brushed Shion’s side, and the man flinched, splashing water on the side of the sink and counter.

            “Are you okay?” Shion asked.

            “Fine.”

            Shion finished peeling the last shrimp. Washed his own hands. Dried them and picked at a thread on the dishtowel while he looked at Nezumi, who was wiping down the counter.

            “We can acknowledge it, if you think that will help. That this is weird. I know that. I understand it. But I trust you now. So you can trust me too. We promised, remember? And that means something to me.”

            Nezumi stopped wiping the counter. Wove his fingers through his bangs, then glanced at Shion from the corners of his eyes.

            “You don’t always have to say everything that’s on your mind out loud,” he said quietly.

            He was very tall. Shion noticed it now that he was standing beside Nezumi more often. How tall Nezumi was. Long, as if he’d been stretched out, arms and legs and torso. His hair was in a loose bun today, with strands that had fallen out from it. His fingers, when they pushed the hair out from his eyes, were long as well.

            “Would you prefer silence?” Shion asked, rehanging the dishtowel and turning the stove on, ducking down to search in Nezumi’s cupboard for a pan.

            “Yes,” Nezumi replied.

            Shion stood up with a pan. Placed it on the stove. Drizzled olive oil onto it. “Do you have cilantro?”

            “No.”

            “We should have got some today.”

            Nezumi said nothing. Shion wondered if the market even sold cilantro.

            Nezumi’s house was at the edge of the border areas. It was mostly deserted, from what Shion could tell. He had no neighbors, and all civilization was at least a mile walk away. Shion wondered if that was part of the appeal of this place.

            They finished cooking, then ate together at the kitchen table. Shion tapped his nails on the side of his plate. “It’s nice to use normal plates again.”

            “Try not to break that one,” Nezumi said, glancing at him, and Shion smiled back.

            Nezumi stared, then looked down at his plate, his bangs freeing from where he’d tucked them behind his ears and shielding his expression.

            The new nervousness from his housemate, above anything else, fascinated Shion. He wanted more of it. Enjoyed uncovering this side of his housemate. It didn’t suit Nezumi at all. Fit strangely over Nezumi’s long limbs and sharp angles. Shion liked the curiousness of it. The surprise of it. The unexpectedness.

            They washed the dishes together. Shion dried and watched Nezumi wash with cold water. Shion always preferred warm, bordering on hot. When they finished, they stood for only a moment in the clean kitchen before Nezumi was rubbing the back of his neck, interrupting the silence he claimed to prefer.

            “We should get to work. Planning the break in. You need to understand something first. It’s not going to be tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that. We need to do this right. They’ll kill you otherwise. Understood?”

            Nezumi was looking at him fully now. Shion did not realize he had missed being looked at like this.

            “I understand,” Shion agreed.

            Nezumi nodded, and Shion followed him back to the kitchen table, where Nezumi sat and spread his hands over the table, fingers fanned so Shion could clearly see the length of them.

            “How long do you think it’ll be? Before we can break in.”

            Nezumi narrowed his eyes. “I know you’re eager to save your girlfriend, but acting rashly has not gotten you any success in the past.”

            “Safu is not my girlfriend,” Shion pointed out, figuring now that they were housemates, it was good to know a little about each other. “I do love her, of course, she’s been my best friend since we were kids.”

            Nezumi looked at Shion in silence until Shion couldn’t bear it.

            “What?”

            Nezumi shook his head, continued as if he hadn’t been staring. “Let’s first establish what we know. I can dismantle the camera system at the compound easily, so that’s not a problem. I also work for the Resistance Force, so I have a key card and my being there won’t cause alarm. You, on the other hand, are an annoyingly distinguishable person.”

            Shion frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

            “It means your hair looks like it might glow in the dark, you’ve got this ridiculously noticeable scar all over you, and your eyes, you may have noticed, are a color only common to mythological creatures.”

            Shion crossed his arms, wincing when his wound smarted at the movement. “My scar is not all over me, my hair does not glow in the dark, and your eye color is pretty uncommon yourself, so I don’t really think you’re someone who can point fingers.”

            “My appearance is not the problem here. You’re the one everyone’s eager to shoot,” Nezumi snapped, sounding almost defensive.

            “I don’t think everyone is eager to shoot me. That seems like an exaggeration.”

            “You’re being annoying,” Nezumi said, pointing at Shion.

            “I’m stating a fact.”

            “Annoyingly.”

            “I’m not shaving my head,” Shion warned, and Nezumi shrugged.

            “Guess you don’t want to save your girlfriend.”

            “I already told you she’s not my girlfriend.”

            “Maybe you shouldn’t bother with this whole ordeal of saving her then. Might make the actual girlfriend jealous,” Nezumi said, leaning back in his chair.

            “I don’t see why it should, seeing as Safu is my best friend and her well-being is no less important to me than a romantic significant other’s would be,” Shion replied shortly.

            “Does that mean you have a girlfriend?”

            “How is that relevant?”

            “It’s not. I’m getting to know you. Isn’t that what you want? To be, what word did you use – _housemates_? All close and chatty now? Friends that talk deep into the night and whisper secrets to each other over hot cocoa?”

            Shion smiled. “We don’t have to do all of that. Hot cocoa does sound nice though, I haven’t had that since I was a little kid.”

            Nezumi narrowed his eyes. “It disturbs me how quickly you forget you were just my hostage.”

            “We put that behind us.”

            “Did we?”

            Shion looked at his new housemate seriously. “Nezumi, you need to let it go. It’s okay. You don’t need to feel guilty. I know it was hard for you to have me as a hostage. I know you didn’t want to keep me here to begin with.”

            “I don’t feel guilty,” Nezumi snapped.

            “Then what do you feel?” Shion asked, curious, fascinated, leaning across the table, and Nezumi immediately got up.

            Shion stared as he left the kitchen, then got up and followed to see that Nezumi was pulling on his jacket and shoving his feet in his boots.

            “Where are you going?”

            “I need air,” Nezumi said, opening his front door, where he turned back, glared at Shion. “Don’t follow me.”

            The door slammed before Shion could reply.

*

Nezumi had made a mistake.

            He could not house his former hostage. It didn’t make sense. The guy was from the Gold District. Nezumi wanted nothing to do with him. Certainly did not want to go to the market with him. Cook with him. Eat with him. Do the dishes with him. Make plans to free the people of his district with him.

            What had he been thinking?

            Nezumi strung his fingers through his bangs. Tightened his grip, then let go, dropped his hand, stopped walking, not entirely sure where he was walking to.

            Away. Away from the house. Away from Shion, who, no longer tethered to the bed, seemed to be everywhere, always. Away from whatever he felt when he was around Shion, like he was claustrophobic, like he was suffocating, like he couldn’t breathe and his chest felt smaller and he didn’t like it.

            He didn’t want it. He thought he knew what was happening, and it was absurd. Nezumi put it out of his head. Started walking again, faster. Away from _it_ , the heat on his skin when Shion smiled, which he did too often now, so quick to forget that a few days ago he’d designated Nezumi a criminal, a bad person, a despicable human being, held a shard of glass to Nezumi’s neck and wanted to kill him with it but was too weak to finish the job properly.

            If it had been Nezumi, taken hostage by Shion, Nezumi would not have hesitated. He’d have killed Shion the first chance he had. It wouldn’t have been a choice to make. It would have been a guarantee.

            Nezumi pushed his bangs out of his eyes again. The wind was rough, and he preferred it that way. Wanted to be pushed and pulled, wanted to have to concentrate just to stand his ground. Ahead of him, the Gold District loomed larger than before. Nezumi stopped to look at it.

            Shion would return here. Nezumi would help him free the captives, and Shion would return with them to his comfy luxurious home, and Nezumi would be left to get kicked back to the slums of the border areas.

            “Shit,” Nezumi breathed. He had felt trapped nearly his entire life, but now it felt unbearable to be in his own skin. He itched, was too hot. Felt feverish and agitated. Wanted to just keep walking, go somewhere new and start over, but he had nowhere to go and nothing to start over with.

            Nezumi stood very still. Let himself breathe. Collected himself, then turned back to go home. When his house was again in sight, Nezumi looked at his watch. He’d been out for hours without realizing, even though the setting sun should have given some indication.

            When Nezumi opened the front door, Shion was standing in front of the bookshelf, looking downward. Nezumi closed the door behind him. Toed off his boots.

            “Have you read all of these?” Shion’s voice was gentle, like he was wary of scaring Nezumi away again, back out the door where Nezumi itched to go.

            Shion had turned. Was holding a book open in his hands. Nezumi didn’t care to know what book it was.

            “Yeah,” Nezumi said. His voice sounded odd. He cleared it.

            Shion wore Nezumi’s sweats. They were long on him, and he’d folded them up at the ankles so that his skin showed above his bare feet. Nezumi could see the hint of a scar there, the same color and shape as that around his cheek and neck and torso.

            It must have wrapped around Shion’s entire body. Nezumi wondered if it was on both of Shion’s legs or just one, then forced himself to stop thinking about it. He felt sweat prickling on his palms. He longed to be outside, away.

            “I didn’t know there were any books in the border areas. In the Gold District, they tell us that none of you can read.”

            Nezumi clenched his jaw. Shion’s words were technically true – not many people in the border areas could read – but the fact that he’d said it pissed Nezumi off. The fact that he’d said _none of you,_ like Nezumi was just like any other border area savage. Uncivilized, illiterate, ignorant, primitive.

            “I shouldn’t have said that,” Shion said quietly.

            “I don’t care. You’re right anyway,” Nezumi said. He forced his voice to stay even, forced himself to shrug. “My parents built the only library in the border area. That’s why I have the books.”

            “They built a library?”

            “It’s gone now,” Nezumi said shortly. Eaten by the fire. He’d ran through the shelves and picked books off while his eyes burned with smoke, wanting to take them all with him. What a stupid thing to save. Now Nezumi had books and nothing else.

             He left the bedroom. Walked into the kitchen and filled up a glass of water to give himself a reason to be there that wasn’t just to get away from Shion. It didn’t matter. Shion’s voice followed him, and when he turned, it was to see that Shion had followed as well.

            “Can I ask you something?” Shion asked. Tentative, wary. Never know what a border area resident will do next. Don’t want to anger them.

            Nezumi turned back to the sink. Poured his water down the drain just so he could fill his glass again.

            Shion wasn’t like the Gold District citizen Nezumi envisioned. He was stubborn. He wanted to save the hostages knowing he’d probably die. He wasn’t going to give up. He didn’t care about himself over others.

            Shion was stupider than that. Selfless. Believed in the good of everyone, even a man who’d kept him hostage. He was a goddamn idiot, and Nezumi didn’t want to see anything else in him, didn’t want to acknowledge anything like bravery or passion or strength in Shion because that would mean acknowledging the rest of it.

            The smiles. The scar. What Nezumi felt when he thought about it, wrapping around all of Shion’s body, lower than his neck, lower than his torso, lower than his waist.

            Nezumi dumped the water in the sink again.

            “Nezumi.”

            “What?” Nezumi didn’t mean to speak in a whisper. He didn’t know where his voice went.

            “Do you hate me?” Shion was right next to him. Nezumi refused to look at him.

            _Yes. What have you done to me?_

            “Does it matter?” Nezumi asked lightly. He was glad his voice had returned.

            “I’d rather you didn’t,” Shion said, and when Nezumi chanced a glance at him, there was that goddamn smile, smaller now but there, and Nezumi’s inhale caught.

            He glared at the upturned lips. The warmth of Shion’s expression. The hopefulness of it. “You should get used to not having everything go your way, Your Majesty.”

            The smile stretched. The opposite reaction from what Nezumi wanted. There were small crinkles by Shion’s eyes. The scar on his cheek shifted with each expression. Nezumi searched for the bruise on his face and could hardly see it, maybe a yellowish tint, he wished it was still there, a reminder that they’d been enemies, that they weren’t on the same side, that anything else was temporary but what was permanent was that they couldn’t coexist, they couldn’t get along, they couldn’t ever be anything more and it would be best for Nezumi to stop thinking about it, considering it, wanting it.

            “I’ll keep that advice in mind,” Shion said, and Nezumi remembered they were having a conversation, talking about something, Nezumi didn’t know what.  “Are you hungry?”

            “What?” Nezumi dropped his glass in the sink. Pushed his bangs off his face.

            “You should eat something. You look pale. Paler than usual,” Shion said, and his hand lifted as if he were to touch Nezumi’s face, but then he pulled it back.

            There were rings around Shion’s wrists from the ropes Saya had tied. The skin pink and chafed. Nezumi wanted to rub the color away with his fingers. He tucked his hands in his pockets.

            “I’ll get us some cheese and bread, and we can talk more about the compound. I won’t shave my hair, but I was thinking I could dye it temporarily,” Shion said.

            Nezumi looked from Shion’s wrists to his face. His sincere expression. There was concern there too.

            Shion was here because he wanted Nezumi’s help to free the captives. There was no other reason. Nezumi nodded, went to the kitchen table while he listened to Shion move around his kitchen. The sounds Shion made were muted, as if Shion still worried Nezumi might run from him, as fast he could, as far as possible.

*

Shion looked at the bed.

            “I don’t want to sleep there.”

            “I don’t either,” Nezumi said.

            “Why not? It’s your bed. You’re not the one who was unwillingly tied there.”

            “It’s my house, my rules. I get the couch,” Nezumi replied.

            Shion didn’t understand why Nezumi had an aversion to his own bed. “I don’t understand why you have an aversion to your own bed.”

            “Were you previously under the impression that you understood everything?” Nezumi asked. His hand was in his hair. It was frequently in his hair. Long fingers. Dark bangs. Shion liked Nezumi’s hair, how long it was, how dark, how often it tangled in Nezumi’s own fingers, as if he wove them there and forgot where he’d left them.

            Shion thought Nezumi put his fingers in his hair when he was frustrated, but he couldn’t be sure. Maybe it was something else. Maybe it was a combination of things. Maybe Nezumi wasn’t even aware at all of the gestures he made, not at all the way Shion was aware of them, increasingly aware of them the more he watched the man.

            “You can’t make me sleep on your bed,” Shion reminded.

            “Sleep on the floor. Sleep in the kitchen. Sleep outside. I don’t give a shit, but you’re not sleeping on the couch.”

            “You fall off anyway!” Shion said, throwing his hands up. He was currently sitting on the couch. He’d been reading _Hamlet._ He could tell from the worn nature of the spines that Nezumi liked Shakespeare best, and Shion’s own knowledge of Shakespearean plays was abysmal. He would not be able to carry a conversation with Nezumi about Shakespeare if he didn’t read up. He wondered if Nezumi would ever allow them to have a conversation about Shakespeare if Shion tried to instigate one.

            “Get off my couch.” Nezumi stood in front of him. His hand was still in his hair. He had incredibly pointy elbows. His hair was wet from his shower, and he wore socks to bed.

            “We can be reasonable about this,” Shion said calmly. “I have bad memories about being tied to your bed.”

            “You think my memories aren’t bad? I deal with them anyway. I suck it up and do what I have to do,” Nezumi said shortly.

            Shion crossed his arms. Nezumi could be stubborn, but so could he. “I’m not moving. You can move me, but I won’t go willingly.”

            “Do you want to be a hostage? Is what Saya said true? Are you just into that shit? I’m not going to make you move, Shion.”

            “Then you won’t be sleeping on the couch,” Shion replied.

            Nezumi just looked at him, that way he looked at him, but it was different now, one of many different looks Shion couldn’t understand, too many looks for Shion to begin to understand, and then Nezumi was turning, putting on his boots.

            Shion stood up. “Wait. Where are you going?”

            “You can have the couch.”

            “Nezumi. I was kidding. You can sleep on the couch, I’ll take the bed. I get it, it reminds you of taking me hostage, which I know you regret and don’t like to think about, and – ” The door slammed on Shion’s words.

            Shion sat still in the absence of Nezumi. The house felt smaller without Nezumi’s presence, a presence Shion was aware of constantly moving away from him, leaning back in his chair if they sat together at the kitchen, walking into a different room when Shion entered one, leaving the house altogether frequently, as if to be around Shion at all was something stifling, unbearable.

            Shion tried to read more pages of _Hamlet._ Gave up and went to the bathroom to wash his face, brush his teeth, pee. He left the bathroom, turned off the lights, returned to Nezumi’s couch. Laid down and found it incredibly uncomfortable. It was too soft, and his body immediately sagged into the cushions. He felt swallowed up. He didn’t know how Nezumi managed to fall off of it in his sleep.

            Shion didn’t know how long he laid in the deep suction of the couch because there were no clocks in Nezumi’s room, and Nezumi had taken his watch. After some time, Shion’s back ached, and he pushed himself out of the couch with difficultly. Stood up and found a pair of slippers amongst Nezumi’s clothes. Put them on and left the house, having to leave it unlocked because he didn’t have a key, but he didn’t think there were many people around the area anyway, and if someone did break in, Nezumi didn’t have much to steal.

            Nezumi’s house was in an open field that was mostly dirt. The main road was a few yards away, but Shion didn’t walk towards it. He walked around the house, to the back that he’d never seen. It was dark, but soon Shion’s eyes adjusted, and as he kept walking the dirt turned into long grass.

            Shion waded through it. Saw Nezumi lying in the grass on his back yards away from him. Closed this distance that Nezumi kept placing between them.

            Shion didn’t want to get on Nezumi’s nerves. He wanted to give Nezumi space. But he also wanted to show Nezumi that being alone wasn’t always the best option. That there was a different way to exist than the way Nezumi must have for so long.

            Shion sat beside Nezumi. Nezumi’s hands were loosely folded over the flat of his stomach. His eyes were open. His hair stained the grass beneath it. He didn’t look at Shion, so Shion looked up at the sky Nezumi was watching. There were too many stars to count.

            “If you changed your mind, and you can’t help me free the Gold District captives from the compound, and you want me to leave, just tell me,” Shion said, to the stars.

            Nezumi didn’t say anything for so long Shion thought he’d fallen asleep. He peeked at him, saw that Nezumi was looking at him. Starlight was caught in the grey of his eyes. His skin looked paler at night.

            “We made a promise,” Nezumi said. He spoke so softly it might have been the wind that blew his hair onto his cheeks. Tendrils of it wrapped around his neck.

            “You can break it,” Shion offered. He didn’t want Nezumi to break it. He needed Nezumi’s help. But he felt like he was keeping Nezumi hostage in his own house. He felt like he had trapped Nezumi, he felt like Nezumi kept trying to break free from him.

            Nezumi had let Shion go, and Shion had to do the same. It was only fair.

            Nezumi sat up. His eyes were dark without the stars in them. “Because I’m from the border areas. And we break promises.”

            Shion felt his chest squeeze around a heart that beat too hard. “I don’t think you’re like them.”

            “Like them?” Nezumi asked. His voice wasn’t louder than before, but it felt like it. Harder. Angrier. Something worse than anger that Shion had never learned about, never had to feel, never had to have felt towards him.

            Shion shook his head. “That’s not – That’s not what I meant. And you can’t pretend you’re any better. I know you judge me because I’m from the Gold District. You think we’re all the same too. You think you know everything about me.”

            “I never said I was better. I do know everything about you.”

            “I didn’t kill your family, Nezumi! I would never have done that to you! I would never have done that to anyone.” Shion hadn’t meant to shout. Compensated by whispering his last words, by hardly speaking them, barely releasing them from his lips.

            Nezumi didn’t flinch. “What would you have done instead? Ignored us? Let us starve and live without homes and die on the street while you basked in your opulence? Refused to think about us because that was inconvenient, having to think about someone who you never had to see, never had to watch suffer? You know how many people I’ve seen die? Ask me how many people I’ve watched die, Shion, I bet it’s more than you could ever guess.”

            “You can’t blame me for everything that’s happened to you and everyone in the border areas!”

            “Who else do I have to blame? Your girlfriend? The other captives? Why should I save them? What about everyone else who’s got it worse?”

            “Then don’t! I’m giving you an out, I’m telling you, you don’t owe me anything, you don’t have to help me, so don’t!” Shion shouted back.

            Nezumi’s hand was in his hair. Shion was distracted from his anger by the gesture. Distracted from his burning eyes and the tightness of his throat by the familiarity of this movement, when he’d hardly known Nezumi a full week.

            Nothing should have been familiar. Shion shouldn’t have felt like this, so much.

            “If I let you go alone, you’ll die. I’m not just going to let you – ”

            “If you hate me, why not? Why not let me die? You said you’ve seen so many people die, what’s one more?” Shion demanded.

            “One more is a lot, Shion.” Nezumi was standing up. Shion had to tilt his head to look up at him. Behind him, the stars seemed duller than a minute before.

            Shion felt himself deflate. The anger fall from him abruptly. He felt empty without it. Too light, susceptible to be taken by the wind. He curled his fingers around strands of long grass to anchor himself.

            Nezumi exhaled deeply. Shook his head, and his hand fell from his hair. “I’ll take the bed. The couch hurts my back anyway.”

            He walked away before Shion could protest, and by the time Shion managed to unravel his fingers from the grass and follow, it was to find Nezumi lying on his stomach on the bed, sprawled as if he’d been sleeping for hours.

            The blanket and pillow had been thrown on the couch. Shion approached them hesitantly, then settled back down, attempting to get comfortable.

            He didn’t know what time it was, but sometime later Nezumi started to stir, his arms and legs jerking, and then he was speaking in his garbled, sleepily panicked way.

            Shion tried not to make out any of the words, glad they were incomprehensible, and wondering if this preference for ignorance was the reason Nezumi couldn’t stand him.

*

Two weeks passed, and Nezumi became more accustomed to having Shion in his home as a _housemate_ , as Shion seemed to enjoy saying.

            He finished giving an update to Saya over the walkie talkie, which just constituted confirming that Shion was still his hostage, before turning the walkie talkie off and joining Shion at the kitchen table, where Shion was looking over plans of the compound he’d sketched from memory.

            Even though Nezumi had frequented the compound more often, he didn’t have the entire layout memorized like Shion did. It was impressive.

            “What if we entered separately?” Shion asked, pointing at the back entrance. “I go through here, and you – ”

            “I told you we’re not doing that,” Nezumi said, standing up again when he realized both his and Shion’s mugs were empty. He refilled them and brought them back to the table, sliding Shion’s around the sketches.

            Shion wrapped his fingers around the mug without looking away from the blueprints. He was frowning, the crease between his eyebrows appearing that signaled he was getting ready to argue.

            Nezumi held out a hand to stop the argument before it could interrupt the quiet of the kitchen. “We’ve discussed this, Your Majesty.”

            “I think you’re being a little stubborn about it.”

            “I’m being stubborn?” Nezumi shook his head. “Let’s take a break for the night, we’ve been talking in circles for hours.”

            “I think we should do it on Friday,” Shion said.

            Nezumi put down his mug, which he’d been about to take a sip from. “That’s in two days.”

            “I know what day of the week it is.”

            “Do you?” Nezumi asked, squinting at the guy.

            “They’re being held hostage, Nezumi. Every day we take more time to plan is another day that they’re locked up. I was only a hostage for two and a half nights, and it felt like forever.”

            Nezumi leaned back in his chair. “I wasn’t that bad.”

            Shion’s smile was faint and dissolved too quickly on his lips. Nezumi wished it’d lasted longer.

            “I can’t let Safu stay in that place for any longer. We’re ready. We’ve made a foolproof plan – ”

            “It’s hardly foolproof – ”

            “We’ll do preparations tomorrow, and head out early on Friday. I can’t wait any longer, Nezumi. If you can’t do it, then you can stay home.”

            “The plan is only _close_ to foolproof because of my involvement in it,” Nezumi said slowly.

            “I know,” Shion agreed, nodding seriously. “So I would really be grateful if you came with me on Friday.”

            Nezumi stood up. “Shion. Try to use your brain, I know it’s difficult for you.”

            “Stop insulting me and listen! There’s nothing else in the plan that needs hashing out. We’ve both got it memorized, we both know what we have to do. We have the make-up for my scar, and the package with my hair dye and colored contacts just came in the mail from my mom. We have the fireworks to distract the guards, we have the guns and enough syringes for emergencies. What else do we need? Why else are we waiting?”

            Nezumi put his hands on his hips. Stared at the guy whose nonsense he’d gotten pretty used to over the last two weeks to the point where he was amazed that it could still surprise him.

            “We’re waiting because you’re not ready. We’ve got guns, yeah, but you’re not going to pull the trigger on anyone.”

            “That’s not going to change no matter how long we wait,” Shion said flatly.

            “Then what’s the point of the guns?”

            “To use as a threat! Nezumi, I’m not going to shoot someone next month any more than in two days. And if all goes to plan, I won’t need to even use it as a threat. We’ve done everything we can possibly do.” Shion smiled lightly, then, tilted his head. “You should be happy. The sooner we do it, the sooner I’ll be off your hands.”

            Nezumi turned away from Shion under the guise of walking to the fridge and looking inside of it. He examined the gallon of skim milk Shion had insisted on getting at their last trip to the market, claiming that it was so much healthier than two percent, that Nezumi wouldn’t even notice the difference.

            Nezumi had noticed the difference. He noticed every difference that Shion had imposed upon his life in the last two weeks – it had to be more than two weeks, how had it only been two weeks?

            Nezumi closed the fridge. “Okay,” he said, to the closed door of it. “We’ll do it Friday.”

            He didn’t turn to see Shion’s reaction. He already had Shion’s smile memorized.

*


	5. Chapter 5

Shion emerged from the bathroom after watching the dark swirls of hair dye get swallowed by the sink. He’d rubbed his hair with a towel to dry it and hoped he hadn’t accidentally stained Nezumi’s towel permanently.

            He peeked out of the bathroom door tentatively. “Nezumi,” he called, not seeing Nezumi where he’d left the man reading on the couch.

            Nezumi appeared from the kitchen. Was looking down at a box of pasta, and when he looked up he stopped walking abruptly. “Oh,” he said.

            Shion touched clumps of his darkened hair self-consciously. “Is it that bad?”

            Nezumi blinked, then shrugged, his expression smoothing. “Looks a little weird with the white eyebrows.”

            “Oh, shit, I forgot to dye those.”

            “Never mind, you don’t need to. No one’s going to be looking closely at your eyebrows.”

            Shion bit his lip. Released it. “I was hoping you could help me with the make-up.”

            “We’ll do that tomorrow.”

            “Shouldn’t we practice today? To see how much we need to apply so we can just do it quickly tomorrow morning?”

            Nezumi sighed, dropped the box of pasta on the couch and followed Shion as he retreated back into the bathroom.

            “What the hell have you done to my towel?”

            “It’s not permanent dye, so maybe it won’t be permanent on towels either.”

            “Or maybe it will,” Nezumi grumbled, but he didn’t seem all too upset as he squeezed a drop of the foundation they’d found in the market onto the back of his hand.

            “We should have bought the make-up brush, it will look too thick if you do it with your fingers.”

            “You’re not trying to look beautiful, Shion,” Nezumi said flatly, dipping his fingers into the drop of foundation. “Hold still.”

            Shion held still as Nezumi applied the foundation to his scar. Nezumi’s fingers were cool, the sensation of the wet foundation odd beneath them. Shion liked Nezumi’s concentration on his skin. Recalled, in an odd moment, Nezumi shaving him weeks before, and he flinched at the memory.

            “Shion,” Nezumi said.

            “Sorry,” Shion whispered, and he watched the focused grey flick to his eyes before they were back on his scar.

            Nezumi finished half a minute later. Stepped back and winced.

            “That bad?” Shion asked, resisting the urge to touch his covered scar and looking at the mirror.

            It looked blotchy, but did the job.

            “You know, my hair wasn’t always white.”

            “I’ve heard hair color tends to change with old age,” Nezumi said, and Shion smiled at the mirror.

            “Just the contacts now,” he said, opening the box while Nezumi washed the foundation off his hands.

            “The contacts are superfluous. Nobody’s going to be looking that closely at your eyes,” Nezumi said, not for the first time.

            “For someone who’s so insistent on doing this right, I don’t know why you’re so against the contacts,” Shion said. He skimmed the instructions in the box before taking the contacts out of their plastic cases and leaning closer to the mirror to put them in his eyes.

            He blinked at himself, then looked at Nezumi, who frowned.

            “They’re brown. They look natural,” Shion objected.

            “They look bad.”

            “I don’t think so.”

            “Don’t get used to them,” Nezumi said shortly, leaving the bathroom.

            Shion looked back in the mirror, seeing his own confusion. He didn’t know why the contacts even bothered Nezumi so much. It wasn’t like they were his eyes anyway.

            He removed them, putting them in their little contact case and covering them with contact solution from the little bottle that came in the box. He washed his face next, then looked at himself in the mirror again, touching his newly dark brown hair before leaving the bathroom and finding Nezumi in the kitchen, stirring pasta in a pot.

            Nezumi glanced up at him, his eyes lingering on Shion’s hair before he looked back at the pasta.

            “Do you really think it looks that bad?”

            “I prefer it white.”

            “White hair on a twenty-four-year-old is weird,” Shion argued.

            Nezumi didn’t respond. Shion watched him tuck his own hair behind his ear. It was down today. Shion liked it best when it was down, because then sometimes he caught Nezumi in the act of braiding it, could watch Nezumi’s long fingers flit quickly through the dark strands while he read a book on the couch.

            They ate and read at the kitchen table, then put down their books to go over the plan three more times before Nezumi stood up and said they needed to get an early night.

            They brushed their teeth at the same time, Nezumi elbowing Shion out of the way each time Shion tried to spit in the sink so that Shion ended up just standing to the side, waiting for Nezumi to finish before he stepped forward for his turn.

            Nezumi let Shion pee first, and Shion sat on the couch where he’d been sleeping while Nezumi used the bathroom.

            Shion laid on the couch reluctantly. After two weeks, his back ached. He didn’t think he’d get any sleep, with his nerves on top of his discomfort.

            He waited for Nezumi to emerge from the bathroom, turn off the lights, and settle into bed, then waited a few minutes longer before he sat up on the couch. He pressed his palms into his knees, then took a breath.

            “Nezumi.”

            Nezumi didn’t turn. He was lying on his side with his back to Shion. “Mm.”

            “Do you want to switch tonight?”

            Nezumi was silent, and then he rolled over onto his back, but he turned his head so that his cheek was on the mattress and he looked at Shion.

            Shion had tried to coax him to just buy another pillow, but Nezumi seemed convinced the pillows sold at the market were infested with fleas.

            “You could sleep on the couch and I’d take the bed.”

            “Why?”

            “The couch hurts my back,” Shion confessed.

            “Told you,” Nezumi said, then turned his head so that he was looking at the ceiling.

            “I just think it’s important that I get a good night’s sleep tonight.”

            “The couch hurts my back too,” Nezumi said to the ceiling.

            Shion nodded. “Okay. That’s fine, I just thought I’d ask – ”

            “You can still sleep here,” Nezumi interrupted softly.

            “What?”

            “It’s a big bed. And you’re too skinny anyway. You’d fit.”

            It wasn’t a big bed. Shion’s bed in the Gold District was at least double the size.

            “You want me to sleep on your bed next to you?” Shion asked, just to make sure he understood. Sometimes he was absolutely certain that he would never understand Nezumi. That even to want to do so was an ineffectual goal.

            “Just giving you options,” Nezumi said quietly, after a stretch of silence.

            Shion considered, but not for very long. He stood up, gathered the blanket and pillow and took the few steps forward to Nezumi’s bed, where Nezumi glanced at him for a long moment before sliding over.

            Shion climbed onto the bed. Settled slowly, leaving space between himself and Nezumi so that he was nearly falling off the edge. He didn’t know why he left this space. He decided he was leaving it for Nezumi. Nezumi was a violent sleeper. He needed space for his arms and legs. For his protests and discomfort.

            Nezumi was still on his back, but he’d turned his head again to watch Shion, who slept on his side, found himself facing Nezumi only once he’d finished settling, didn’t know what to do about this.

            “You can have some of the blanket,” Shion said, just to say something, put words between them alongside the space he’d left.

            “Are you okay?” Nezumi asked.

            “What?” Shion asked. He leaned forward. Nezumi’s voice was so quiet. It was a natural reaction, to lean closer, to try to hear.

            “Sleeping here. Is it okay?”

            The grey of Nezumi’s eyes looked melted. Shion did not know how he came to this conclusion. He did not understand his own observation.

            It took him a moment, to understand what Nezumi was asking him.

            “Oh,” Shion said, when he understood. “It’s been a long time since I was your hostage. It hardly feels real. More like something I dreamed, really,” he said.

            Nezumi nodded, his cheek sliding against the mattress. Dark hair shifted and fell over his cheek. Shion considered that Nezumi was beautiful. He didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed it before.

            “Goodnight, Your Majesty,” Nezumi whispered, and Shion smiled at the nickname.

            He didn’t think the way Nezumi said it was derisive anymore. He thought the way Nezumi said it was soft like cotton that clouded Shion’s ears.

            “Goodnight, Nezumi,” Shion whispered back. He watched Nezumi close his eyes and wondered how he could ever fall asleep.

*

Nezumi finished dismantling the security cameras in the power control station and ran down to the main floor to meet Shion, as planned.

            “Did you do it?” Shion asked. He was rubbing at his eyes with his knuckles as he’d been doing since an hour after he put in the contacts.

            “Just take them out,” Nezumi said.

            “I’m fine,” Shion mumbled, dropping his hand. “So did you?”

            “Of course. Come on.” Nezumi led Shion to the back staircase, as the front staircase was filled with the fireworks Shion had been setting off, drawing the guards from the power control station and the downstairs cells.

            They descended the stairs quickly, and Nezumi swiped his key card to get into the room where all four cells were located.

            “Safu!” Shion shouted, running to the cell at the far left.

            Nezumi slid his key card at the cell closest to him, but an odd buzzing sound went off and the key slot glowed red instead of green.

            Nezumi frowned. Rubbed the key card against his shirt.

            “Shion?”

            “Are you okay? Did they do anything to you?”

            “Did you dye your hair? Wait – Are those colored contacts?”

            “Nezumi, what’s taking so long?”

            “Nezumi’s with you? The kidnapper?”

            “He’s helping us.”

            “But – ”

            “Shit,” Nezumi cursed, sliding the key card four more times to no avail.

            “What’s going on?” Shion asked.

            The citizen inside the cell Nezumi was attempting to open had come up to the bars. Stood in front of Nezumi, and Nezumi looked at her. Her cheeks were thin, sallow. Nezumi remembered her. She was the first citizen he had kidnapped. She hadn’t even had her door locked.

            “Shion, we have to get out of here,” Nezumi said, backing away from the cell.

            “What?”

            “Something’s wrong. My key card won’t work.”

            “What does that mean? It worked on all the other doors.”

            “Yeah, and it’s disabled on the cells. Saya must have had some suspicion after I let you – Look, we have to go. My card might have triggered some sort of alarm.” Nezumi looked around. There were no other guards that he could see, but it was a matter of time.

            He felt his pulse in his ears. He had operated under pressure many times before. He had run for his life countless times before. There was nothing he knew to do better than to survive.

            “Nezumi. I can’t leave without them. I’m not leaving without them.”

            Nezumi should have been running, his instincts told him to get out, but instead he walked farther into the room, stepped towards Shion, reached out to grab his arm, looked at him solidly. “We have to go. We can try again, but right now, we have to go.”

            Shion tried to pull his arm away. Nezumi had taken the stitches out of it a week before, and Shion had not even winced. “I won’t – ”

            “Shion, listen to me! My card won’t work! There’s no other way to get them out right now!”

            “Shion. I think he’s right. You should go.” It was Safu. Nezumi glanced at her briefly. He remembered her too. There had been someone in her house when he’d gone to collect her. He’d had to wait until that person left before slipping into her bedroom window.

            Nezumi wondered, for a jarring moment, if that person he’d waited to leave her house had been Shion.

            “I’m not leaving you! I’m getting you out, Safu, I promise, I’m getting you out!”

            Nezumi pulled on Shion’s arm. “I’ll sedate you,” he hissed. “Don’t make this difficult. They know we’re here.”

            “Don’t you dare sedate me, Nezumi,” Shion snapped, whipping his arm free.

            As he did so, a loud alarm went off from overhead, a sharp series of buzzings that was nearly deafening.

            “Fuck. Come on,” Nezumi said, grabbing Shion’s hand again, not loosening his grip, pulling the man even as he protested.

            “Nezumi – ”

            “You’re going to get us killed, shut up,” Nezumi hissed, dragging Shion with one hand and pulling out his gun with the other. “Take out your gun.”

            “I’m not going to kill anyone. Let go of me!”

            “Shit, Shion,” Nezumi muttered, opening the door to get out of the room and running towards the staircase.

            They started running up the stairs and were nearly at the door to the main floor when two guards rushed through it into the stairway.

            “Stop right there!” the one in front shouted, a woman whose name Nezumi couldn’t remember. She held a gun, and Nezumi felt Shion stop trying to pull away from him.

            Nezumi shot the guard in the thigh, and the guard behind her shot at them when she crumpled.

            “Get down!” Nezumi shouted, pulling Shion down, hearing his gasp, hoping he hadn’t pulled Shion’s arm out of its socket as he shot at the second guard and heard his shout. “Come on, quickly. Are you hurt?”

            “No.” Shion’s voice was small.

            Nezumi pulled him up the remaining stairs, stepping around the fallen guards before kicking their guns away from them and leading Shion out the stairway onto the main floor. “What exit is best to take? Think, Shion.”

            “The back entrance,” Shion whispered.

            Nezumi squeezed his hand. “Get out your gun, Shion. Aim for their legs. You don’t have to kill anyone, we just have to get out.”

            “It’s this way,” Shion said, pulling Nezumi a different way than he’d been running, and Nezumi followed him, saw when Shion reached back into the waistband of his jeans and pulled out his gun, flicking off the safety the way Nezumi had taught him sitting at Nezumi’s kitchen table while Shion complained that the lesson was unnecessary, he would never use one.

            Nezumi didn’t want him to use it. But he’d rather Shion used a gun than for one to be used on him.

            “It’s around that corner, on the right,” Shion said between his breaths.

            Nezumi ran beside him now. Their footsteps were loud alongside the alarm. He had to shout to be heard over them. “Once we get out of the building, remember, we have to get to the East side of the gate, that’s where we cut the section out of it. We go to your mom’s van and – ”

            “Hey, Saya, I found them!”

            They’d just turned the corner, and Shion froze. Nezumi stopped when he felt Shion’s hand slip out from his.

            “Nezumi,” said a guard at the end of the hall. “We’re not supposed to kill you. Just the hostage.”

            Nezumi shot him in the stomach, and he fell forward, but there was another guard behind him, and three more running after her.

            Nezumi shot at them all. “Go back, Shion! Get to the other entrance!”

            “We’re not going to get out,” Shion said, so quietly there was no reason for Nezumi to hear him.

            “Go out through the front entrance. They’re not going to kill me, you heard them. Just go!” Nezumi’s gun was out of bullets. There were two more guards coming from behind the fallen ones.

            Nezumi backtracked to where Shion was standing against a wall. “Shion, listen to me – ”

            “Please move, Nezumi, you’re in my shot.”

            Nezumi turned to see Saya standing down the hall from where they’d just run. They were trapped.

            Nezumi stepped in front of Shion and tossed his empty gun. Saya’s eyes narrowed.

            “If you don’t kill him, I’ll be in your debt,” Nezumi said. He reached backwards. Felt Shion’s hand trembling behind him. It was empty, and Nezumi moved his own hand to the side, searching.

            “You’re already in my debt.” Saya sounded incredibly calm. She had every reason to. She had a gun, and Nezumi didn’t. Nezumi stepped back, closer to Shion until he felt Shion’s body pressed against the back of his.

            “Nezumi…” Shion’s whisper was hot on the back of Nezumi’s ear. Nezumi slid his hand along Shion’s thigh. His crotch. His other thigh. The guy was being an idiot, as usual. Couldn’t he tell what Nezumi wanted?

            “It’s peculiar. At first I thought it was that Stockholm syndrome, but that’s when the captive falls for his captor. What do they call it when the captor falls for the captive? Reverse Stockholm?” Saya was saying.

            Nezumi was certain he could feel Shion’s heart beating against his shoulder blades. He finally felt the cool of Shion’s gun beneath his hand. Wrapped his own hand around it. Felt Shion’s fingers loosen, felt Shion’s exhale on his neck, and then Nezumi was holding the gun.

            “It’s likely they don’t have a term for it at all. I doubt enough captors have been stupid enough for an official condition to be warranted. How does one even fall for such a pathetic person like a Gold District citizen? Tell me, Nezumi, I find it very intriguing.”

            Along with Saya, two guards had guns on Nezumi and Shion behind him. The guards would be slower to react than Saya, so Saya needed to be shot first. Nezumi needed Shion to drop to the floor after he shot Saya. He did not know how to tell Shion this.

            Nezumi’s breaths were completely even. He was not scared. Shion was safe so long as he was behind Nezumi, and Nezumi knew how to survive.

            He stepped back again, even though there was no room to do so. Pressed his back entirely against Shion, pinning him to the wall completely. Didn’t want a fraction of Shion to be available when the bullets fired. Shion was not good at surviving. He didn’t have practice in it. He didn’t know how to do it.

            “I had bigger things planned for you, Nezumi. But if you don’t move, I’ll have to start shooting you. Just your thighs, then your arms. Then your knees, then your shoulders. Nothing to kill you. I just need you to fall, so I can get to your hostage there. He really is unruly, isn’t he? It was perhaps a little presumptive to have you babysit him. He’s a much bigger handful than I anticipated. I regret putting so much responsibility on you, the stress has clearly clouded your judgement.”

            Shion’s breath quickened against the back of Nezumi’s neck. Nezumi adjusted his grip on the gun hidden between his and Shion’s bodies, and when Saya lifted hers, he was faster.

            He shot her arm that held the gun, and it went flying. He shoved Shion down, and in the moment it took Nezumi to do so, he was shot, felt the bullet sear through his shoulder so that he dropped his gun as well.

            He lunged for it. Ignored the pain, and he had practice in that. Got his gun and shot at the guard who’d shot him and the other guard beside the first.

            Shion was shouting something, but Nezumi couldn’t hear him. There was blood rushing loudly through his ears. He imagined this was what the ocean sounded like. Calming. Peaceful.

            He saw Saya reaching for her gun on the ground and kicked it out of the way before stooping to grab Shion, pulling him up, running with him to the doorway that he hoped was the entrance.

            “Is it this one?” he demanded, kicking it open.

            “You were shot,” Shion breathed.

            “I need you to focus.” Nezumi tried to keep his voice even so Shion would know he was calm, didn’t feel the pain, felt very peaceful. “I don’t know where your mom’s delivery van is parked, you have to lead, you have to run faster.”

            The sound of bullets behind them punctuated Nezumi’s insistence. They were outside. Shion ran faster, and Nezumi turned, shot blindly behind him. The expanse of lawn surrounding the compound felt endless. As he shot at the guards pursuing them, running with half his body turned back, a searing pain erupted in his hip. Nezumi gasped but kept running, pulled by Shion whose hand tightened around Nezumi’s as Nezumi slowed.

            “Nezumi – ”

            “Don’t look back. Keep going,” Nezumi shouted, and then they were through the hole they’d cut into the gate with gardening shears that Shion had picked out at the market, choosing them because he liked the red handles over the shears with the black handles.

            “We’re almost there,” Shion said, and Nezumi didn’t know if he was lying or not.

            He couldn’t keep running. He was out of bullets and dropped the gun, clutched his hip where the sharpest pain was and felt the warm wetness of his blood.

            He wasn’t going to make it. He tried to free his hand from Shion’s, but Shion’s grip was too tight.

            “Shion, you have to let go,” he breathed. “They’ll let me survive, you have to go without – ”

            “It’s there, it’s right there!” Shion shouted, and Nezumi looked up, saw nothing at all but trees until Shion weaved through them and there was a light blue van with the words _Karan’s Fresh Baked Goods_ written in dark blue script on the side.

            Nezumi didn’t know how he made it. Didn’t know how Shion helped him into the passenger side. Didn’t remember Shion buckling his seatbelt and closing the door on him and getting in the driver’s side, but then the ignition was on, and Shion was driving.

            “You have to press your hands firmly to the wound. Nezumi, stay focused. The hip wound is worse than your shoulder, I need you to concentrate on that and press both your hands as hard as you can against it.”

            Nezumi’s head was swaying. His body was swaying. He was in a speeding van. That was the reason for the swaying. He told this to himself and tried to believe it.

            “Nezumi, don’t pass out. Apply pressure to the wound,” Shion said sternly, a demand, not a request, so Nezumi knew he had to follow it and tried to, tried his best.

            “We can’t go home,” Nezumi said, but he couldn’t hear his voice over the rushing in his ears and thought maybe he hadn’t actually said anything at all.

            “I know. We’re going to my mom’s. It’s going to be fine. Everything is going to be fine.”

            Nezumi closed his eyes. He didn’t know if Shion was lying or not, he didn’t know anything.

*

To get into the Gold District, Shion needed his I.D., which he didn’t have. He gave his name and phone number and contact as he had after Nezumi had let him go, and he tapped his fingers against the steering wheel while he was checked on the citizen registry.

            “Who’s that?” the border patrol agent asked, pointing to Nezumi, who was slumped over. He’d passed out some time before. Shion refused to think he was dead.

            “He’s not a resident. He’s a guest,” Shion said.

            The border patrol agent squinted at Nezumi, then waved them in. When Shion had asked Nezumi how he’d gotten into the Gold District without a residents’ I.D. to kidnap people, Nezumi had smirked and said he’d whored himself out to a border patrol agent in exchange for entry.

            Shion had highly doubted Nezumi’s reply was anything but a joke, but often Shion found it difficult to tell when Nezumi was joking. He had a strange sense of humor.

            The moment Shion was in the Gold District gates out of sight of the border patrol, he pulled over, reached into the back seat for the medical kit he’d placed there a month before on his original mission to free Safu and the other hostages, and got out, running to Nezumi’s side and opening the door.

            He pushed Nezumi’s seat all the way down so that he was lying flat. Opened the medical kit and took out scissors, cut Nezumi’s shirt open, unstuck the fabric carefully from where it had congealed with Nezumi’s blood to his hip. He slid his hand under Nezumi’s body to feel if there was an exit wound on Nezumi’s back.

            There wasn’t. Shion took out a syringe of anesthesia and stuck Nezumi with it. He would have used one of Nezumi’s syringe’s, but he was scared of how strong that serum was, didn’t know the properties of it and if it affected blood clotting or would knock Nezumi out too hard or what, exactly, it did. He didn’t want to put unnecessary strain on Nezumi’s body.

            Shion couldn’t wait for the anesthesia to kick in. He cleaned his hands with an antiseptic wipe and reached into Nezumi’s wound with two fingers to search for the bullet.

            Not half a minute passed when Nezumi started squirming. Shion pushed his fingers farther into the bullet hole. Blood squirted out of Nezumi’s wound. There was a hand around Shion’s wrist, cold fingers, grip loose.

            Shion didn’t look at Nezumi. His relief that Nezumi was alive nearly had him passing out. He tried to focus. He could hear that Nezumi’s breaths were labored.

            “Nezumi. It’s okay. I have to get the bullet out. I don’t want to use tweezers, I don’t know if it got one of your kidneys, and it’s better if I use my fingers to feel what’s been torn. I gave you anesthesia – Nezumi – ”

            Nezumi was jerking away from him. Shion lifted his fingers immediately from the bullet hole, not wanting to stretch it or tear anything while Nezumi thrashed.

            “Nezumi!” Shion made himself look at Nezumi’s face. It was wet and his eyes were wide. His bangs were plastered to his forehead with sweat. “Stop, you need to stop and hold still. I know it hurts. The anesthesia is going to kick in at any second, but I can’t wait for it. I need you to stop moving. I need to get the bullet out before I can close the wound, and I need to close it quickly, you’ve lost a lot of blood.”

            Nezumi’s lips were open but he didn’t make a sound. He stared at Shion, who gripped his hand.

            “You can’t move. It’s going to hurt, but you can’t move. Do you understand? I need to know you understand. I’m so sorry, Nezumi.”

            Nezumi nodded. His chest rose and fell too quickly. Water leaked from his eyes, and Shion looked away from him, back at the wound.

            “It’s going to be okay. I just need you to stay still and breathe. That’s all. It’s going to be okay,” Shion insisted, sticking his fingers back into Nezumi’s wound, feeling him flinch. Shion pressed his free hand down on Nezumi’s waist. Tried to hold him still. Pushed his fingers farther into Nezumi’s body, scared he’d never find the bullet, scared Nezumi would die in pain because of him.

            He felt something smooth, round. Tried to grip it, felt Nezumi jerk again, heard him gasp. Gripped the bullet and pulled it out, and Nezumi made a stifled sound like a moan or a shout that was horrible, that Shion pretended not to hear.

            Shion wiped his own eyes with the shoulder of his sleeve. “I have to give you stiches now,” he whispered.

            Nezumi was breathing too loudly. It was going to drive Shion insane.

            Shion threaded his stitching needle with difficulty. His fingers were slick with blood. It was warm and thick and too much. There was blood up to his wrists, and Shion didn’t know how it’d gotten there. It was everywhere, and Shion tried to wipe around the wound with a towel from the medical kit.

            “Hold still, Nezumi. It’s going to be okay. Stay with me, and I promise, everything will be okay.”

            After the hip wound, Shion still had to stitch Nezumi’s shoulder. He hoped more than he’d ever hoped for anything that the bullet had passed cleanly through.

*

Nezumi woke and wished he hadn’t. He immediately closed his eyes, but there was a hand at the base of his head, lifting it.

            “Just drink this. Just drink, and you can go back to sleep.”

            It was Shion’s voice. Nezumi didn’t open his eyes. Felt something cool against his lips, and then water trickling through.

            “Remember to swallow,” Shion said, and Nezumi was grateful for the reminder.

            He felt like he was going to pass out. He couldn’t see anything and remembered that his eyes were closed. His body hurt in an odd way, with no concentrated source of pain but a sort of numbing throb over everywhere.

            “You should have killed her,” Shion was saying. It was Shion’s voice, at least, but this wasn’t something Shion would say, and Nezumi didn’t like it. “You had the chance to kill Saya, and you should have done it. She could come after us now.”

            Nezumi made himself open his eyes. He saw nothing but Shion’s face looming over his. Shion’s eyes were red again, and Nezumi was so grateful for this. His hair was still dark, so Nezumi didn’t look at it.

            It was hard to breathe. It was hard to keep his eyes open. He didn’t feel right. He felt too light, as if something was missing from inside of him. He wondered where he was. He would die there. Wherever he was was where he would die.

            “I’m – ” It was more difficult to speak than Nezumi had anticipated. He couldn’t get it right the first time.

            “Shh, don’t say anything. Go back to sleep.”

            Nezumi accidentally closed his eyes. It took too much effort to open them again. He didn’t know why he needed them open. He wanted to look at Shion. He liked to look at Shion. Wherever he was going to die, at least Shion would be there to look at one last time.

            “I’m not a murderer,” Nezumi managed, and it took the last of the effort he had. He passed out immediately.

*

When Shion’s mother promised she would watch over Nezumi while he showered, Shion finally gave in.

            He scrubbed extra hard at his hair. The dye was meant to stay in for two to three shampoos, but Shion wanted it out now. He used half a bottle of shampoo until there was dye swirling at his feet. Kept scrubbing until it was all out, and he wouldn’t have to worry about getting it on his mother’s towels.

            He dried himself quickly. Returned to his bedroom, where Nezumi laid on his bed. His mother sat beside Nezumi, holding Nezumi’s hand and speaking softly to him, but she stopped when Shion walked in the room.

            “Did he wake?” Shion asked, but when he looked at Nezumi, the answer was too obvious.

            “It’s okay that he’s resting. That’s what’s best for him right now.”

            “He needs blood.” Shion wasn’t sure why he kept saying this. They couldn’t even take Nezumi to the hospital for a transfusion because he didn’t have a Gold District I.D. and would be refused access.

            “Will they come here for you two?” Karan asked.

            Shion was glad his mother had ignored his comment on Nezumi’s blood. “I don’t know how they’d get in through the gate.”

            “They’ve been kidnapping people somehow.”

            “Nezumi was the kidnapper. He could get in. I don’t know that anyone else on the Resistance Force can,” Shion said.

            “Nezumi was the kidnapper?” Karan asked.

            Shion sat on the bed beside Nezumi. Tucked his hair behind his ears. “That’s not who he is. It’s who he had to be at the time, but that’s not who he is,” Shion said. His voice was harder than he’d meant it. Harder than it’d ever been when he’d spoken to his mother.

            “Then who is he, Shion?” Karan asked quietly.

            Shion didn’t reply. He looked down at Nezumi and thought he looked wrong, much too peaceful to be sleeping. Nezumi had always struggled to survive he even when he slept. Now, he just looked dead.

*

It took Nezumi four times to wake again for him to stay awake for more than fifteen minutes.

            Shion was trying to make him eat soup. Nezumi could hardly lift his arms, which meant Shion had to feed him, and Nezumi thought he’d rather die.

            “I think I’d rather die,” he managed.

            “Don’t be so dramatic. It’s all that Shakespeare you read, it’s a bad influence on you,” Shion said shortly. “Come on, just a few spoonfuls. Weren’t you the one who said you need nutrients in you for your body to heal?”

            “I’m pretty sure you didn’t eat even when I said that,” Nezumi said. His voice was quieter than he would have preferred, but the fact that he was actually alive was vaguely astonishing to him.

            “Nezumi. Please eat something. I need you to eat something,” Shion said, and his voice was strained, so Nezumi opened his mouth obediently.

            He allowed Shion to feed him half the bowl before he felt too tired to eat more. “I need a break,” he insisted.

            “Are you sure?”

            “Mm.” Nezumi closed his eyes again. Was almost asleep when there was Shion’s voice again, pulling him back.

            “Lima syndrome.”

            Nezumi opened his eyes. Shion’s hair was white again. Nezumi could see his scar. His red eyes, the familiar color. Nezumi didn’t care for any other eye color. He didn’t know why other eye colors existed.

            “I looked it up,” Shion said, his red eyes leaving Nezumi. He looked down at the bowl of soup. Only half a bowl. Nezumi wished Shion was still looking at him.

            “Lima syndrome,” Nezumi echoed. The words were strange. He didn’t know them.

            Shion nodded at the bowl. “When a captor starts to develop feelings for his captive. There is a term for it.”

            Nezumi’s exhale felt pulled out of him. He couldn’t look away from Shion. He waited. There had to be more. Shion couldn’t just say that and not say anything more.

            Nezumi was still waiting for Shion to say more when he accidentally closed his eyes. He fell asleep before he could even consider denying anything.

*


	6. Chapter 6

Shion was downstairs, which served as his mother’s bakery, while his childhood bedroom, his mother’s bedroom, and their bathroom were on the second floor.

            He was icing cupcakes, which he hadn’t done in years, when he heard the quiet thump at the top of the stairs.

            Shion stopped icing. His swirls were not quite right. He used to be able to ice cupcakes with his eyes closed. He was out of practice, but thought it’d be easier to remember.

            A few seconds later, there was a soft call – _“Your Majesty?”_ – and Shion put down the icing bag, left the kitchen, and ran up the stairs.

            Nezumi was in a pile in front of the bathroom door. Shion crouched down beside him, helped Nezumi sit up against the wall.

            “What are you doing? I left my phone next to your bed with a note for you to text my mom’s phone if you needed anything,” Shion said, while Nezumi’s hands tangled in his.

            It took a moment for Shion to realize Nezumi was trying to push Shion’s hands away from him. The man’s effort was so weak Shion retracted his own hands immediately, not wanting to feel the feeble protests any longer.

            “I’m fine,” Nezumi mumbled, as if he hadn’t been the one to call down to him.

            “You’re going to rip your stiches. You have to go back to bed,” Shion said sternly. The skin under Nezumi’s eyes was thin and dark. It didn’t look real. It looked like make-up, applied to make Nezumi seem more exhausted than was humanly possible.

            “I have to pee,” Nezumi said. He sounded frustrated. Angry, but weakly so. Not anger at all, but some pathetic, diluted version of it. Watered down rage. Muted resentment.

            Pastel versions of emotion did not fit Nezumi. Shion didn’t want to look at him like this. To hear his voice like this. Quiet, breathy, wrong.

            “I’ll help you,” Shion said.

            Nezumi’s fingers fluttered through his bangs. The gesture should have been familiar, but it wasn’t. “I don’t need help.”

            “Then why did you call me? Why don’t you just lie there in a heap of your own limbs?” Shion snapped. He didn’t know why he was angry. His chest had been aching since Nezumi’s fingers had loosened around his while they’d run to his mother’s van at the compound fourteen hours before. He was exhausted from the throb of it. His worry weighed him down, tore at his patience.

            Shion took a breath. He kept picturing Nezumi’s blood on his hands. Four times while he’d tried to ice the cupcakes, he’d had to drop the icing bag to scrub at his hands at the sink, certain there was still blood on them, underneath the fingernails, between his fingers, in the creases of his palm, lining him, staining him, burning him.

            He wasn’t angry at Nezumi. He was angry at Nezumi’s blood, for leaving him. He was angry at what was left of Nezumi, this man who didn’t look like Nezumi, this man who didn’t sound like him, this man who seemed more like a boy, someone lost and fragile and unlikely to make it on his own.

            Nezumi didn’t say anything. He sat and breathed in a horrible way, and then he tried to stand, and Shion watched him and tried not to feel angrier than before.

            He was not angry at Nezumi. He was angry at himself, for lingering at the cells. For protesting when Nezumi had said they needed to leave. For wasting minutes when they could have been running, running, making it out alive.

            When Nezumi fell, Shion caught him. Was standing without having realized he’d gotten up, and he held Nezumi in his arms, the limp form of him, incredibly light. His skin was not warm. It was very cool, and Shion did not like to touch it.

            “It’s okay. I’ve got you,” Shion said. He was lying. It was not okay. But Nezumi had lied too. He had said he could help Shion, he had said he could get the hostages out, he had trusted Shion in turn, and he had been wrong to do so.

            Shion was not angry at Nezumi. He was an emotion that had not been invented. Had never been felt but for now, a deep whirring in his chest, an electric pulsing that shook his entire skeletal frame, a terrible jolted thrum that rang through his body and refused to let him rest. It was so much more than anger. It was so much more than fear. It was everything Shion had spent his entire life not having to feel because he’d grown up in the Gold District, and Shion understood now, why Nezumi resented him for that.

            Shion had lived a life unprepared for the feeling that wracked him now, consumed him.

            Shion half-carried Nezumi into the bathroom. Kicked the door closed softly behind them. He had dressed Nezumi in his sweats, and pulled the drawstring to loosen it when they stood in front of the toilet.

            “Shion – ” Nezumi mumbled, but he didn’t say anything else, and Shion wouldn’t have cared to listen if he had.

            He didn’t care about Nezumi’s pride. He cared about Nezumi’s life, and that seemed gone from him, and Shion was waiting for it to come back.

            Shion was relieved there was no blood in Nezumi’s pee. His kidneys were fine. Shion almost dropped Nezumi in his relief.

            They made it back to the bedroom. Shion arranged Nezumi’s limbs carefully as he put him to bed. Pulled his blanket up to Nezumi’s chest after checking that his wounds hadn’t bled through the bandages.

            “Don’t get up again,” Shion said, after helping Nezumi drink more water and setting his head back to rest on the pillow.

            Nezumi’s eyes were cloudy on Shion’s. Shion didn’t like to look at them, turned away to leave the room, but then Nezumi’s hand was around Shion’s wrist.

            Shion turned back. Hated the weak grip of Nezumi’s fingers. It wasn’t a grip at all. It was a light breeze, and just as cool over Shion’s skin.

            “Just because I saved your life doesn’t mean I feel anything for you,” Nezumi said.

            Shion looked at him and hated it. Freed his wrist from the cool breath of Nezumi’s fingers.

            “Okay,” Shion said. He already knew that. This was not new information.

            It wasn’t that Nezumi had saved his life that revealed to Shion the feelings Nezumi was developing for him. It was that Nezumi had sacrificed his own.

            “Try to sleep, Nezumi,” Shion told him, and he was relieved when Nezumi closed his eyes.

            Shion wanted to tuck the dark hair behind Nezumi’s ears, but refrained. He would risk touching Nezumi’s skin if he did so, and he was too terrified of the cold, cold man lying on his bed to chance it.

*

Shion’s bedroom was big. Nezumi wouldn’t have known it was a bedroom if Shion’s bed had not been in it.

            It was bigger than Nezumi’s house. There was a desk in it, and a laptop. Nezumi had never seen a laptop before. He’d used only clunky computers while he worked for the Resistance Force. The laptop looked sleek and fragile, and Nezumi wondered vaguely how it could even hold information at such a small size.

            Shion had a large dresser with a mirror on top of it. Nezumi could not see himself in the mirror from the bed, and this was somewhat of a relief the first three days.

            By the fourth, Nezumi decided it was time. When Shion helped him to the bathroom, Nezumi never chanced looking at himself in the mirror. He didn’t want Shion to see his reaction to himself.

            Nezumi didn’t know, exactly, what he was so wary of. His wounds were on his shoulder and hip. Nothing should be wrong with his face, but Nezumi was certain something was, something grotesque, something that shifted Shion’s expression into pain every time the man looked at him.

            Nezumi had begun dreading Shion’s ventures into his bedroom to feed him and check his wounds. The man seemed to resent being near Nezumi. Nezumi could understand that. He was tired of himself, the needy, dependent form he’d been reduced to. He wanted out of his own skin, his own body that had betrayed him.

            Nezumi had never thought of himself as weak. To have to accept that was difficult, a task Nezumi spent most of his nights and days doing, since his weak body wouldn’t allow him to do much else.

            Nezumi heard voices in the house often. There was a bakery below the floor Shion’s mother lived on, and the smells wafted up to Shion’s room. Nezumi had never been one for sweets, and he realized only after he thought about it that this was because he’d never had sweets. He wondered what it was Karan baked.

            After a full two minutes of getting himself to sit up and inch to the edge of the mattress, Nezumi was off the bed and had stumbled around it, leaning against the side of it until he was at the foot of it. He sat back. The mirror was still far from him. It was because Shion’s room was so big. It was absurd. What did anyone need with so much space?      

            Nezumi collected his breaths. Paid attention to his body, his wounds – his shoulder, his hip. Tried to test if they felt strained, if they hurt more than the usual ache. He didn’t think they did. He stood up from the foot of the bed.

            When Nezumi finally reached the dresser, he nearly fell from exhaustion. He braced his forearms on top of it to keep himself standing, and his shoulder seared, so he tried to put more weight on his other arm. He was breathing in gasps. He hated the sound of it, his own labored breathing.

            Nezumi pushed himself up so that he was standing fully. He left only one hand on the edge of the dresser. He looked in the mirror and didn’t know why he’d been so wary of his reflection, because it was not even his own reflection that Nezumi narrowed his eyes at.

            It was a stranger. The stranger’s dark hair was matted and tangled and clumped in odd places. The stranger had black half circles underneath his eyes that looked sallow and even a little wet. The stranger’s face was grey, and Nezumi could see lines of green veins beneath the stranger’s skin.

            The stranger was repellent and looked half-dead, and Nezumi felt nothing but revulsion for him.

            The revulsion rose in Nezumi’s throat. It was hot and stung and Nezumi gagged, vomited onto Shion’s dresser in a sound he let himself pretend came from the stranger in the mirror and not his own body.

            Nezumi’s eyes watered, and he blinked to clear them. He looked at his vomit, which was liquidy and a light brown, and it took Nezumi a moment to think of the soup Shion had been feeding him.

            “Shit,” Nezumi whispered to the vomit. He needed to clean it up. He stopped looking at it. Gazed around Shion’s room, surprised there wasn’t a vomit-cleaning station what with all the space there could have been for one.

            There was a tissue box on the nightstand, but it was empty. He’d have to go to the bathroom, a trip he hadn’t yet made successfully on his own. It felt good to have a purpose. Something to do, to fill the spaces of time that the days had stretched out to.

            He would go to the bathroom. He would retrieve toilet paper. He would clean the vomit on Shion’s shiny dresser. He would return to the bathroom to flush the toilet paper. While he was there, he might as well pee on his own. He would return to bed.

            Nezumi was glad for the number of steps in his plan. They promised to be time-consuming. To fill up maybe the entire afternoon.

            Nezumi turned away from the mirror. Began to make his way to Shion’s door. Had to stop at the bed and sit and rest. He assessed his body again. His wounds ached, but they always ached. It didn’t necessarily mean anything, and Nezumi was good at ignoring pain. Had felt pain much greater than this. This could hardly be called pain at all, in comparison.

            Nezumi stood back up. Made it to the door. Something like a strong breeze seemed to sweep through his head. Nezumi clenched the handle of the door and closed his eyes to stay standing. There was another swooping through his stomach. Nezumi ignored both these sensations and opened the door.

            In the hall, the voices from downstairs were louder. Halfway to the bathroom, Nezumi recognized Shion’s. He paused to listen to it and swayed on his feet.

            “ – to the hospital. We can just use my I.D.”

            “Shion, identity fraud penalties have been higher since the hostage situation. If you were caught, you’d both get jail time, and I don’t see how you wouldn’t be caught. His appearance markers are completely contradictory to yours, and you don’t even know his blood type.”

            “So we just let him die up there?” Shion shouted.

            “Honey, shh, please lower your voice, there are customers – ”

            “Mom, I don’t care about – ”

            “He’s not going to die. If there had been too much blood loss, he wouldn’t have made it four days. You need to be patient. You need to give him time. He’s going to recover.”

            “Can you promise me that, Mom? Can you promise? Because I told Nezumi the same thing, I told him he’d be okay, but I was just lying, so how do I know you’re not lying too?” Shion’s voice broke. Nezumi regretted listening. He didn’t hear anything after that, and he didn’t know if it was because he consciously tried to stop listening, or because he fell forward as he tried to walk again.

            He tried to break his fall, accidentally used his injured arm, gasped from the pain in his shoulder and rolled over onto his hip, which seared. He laid still and tried to breathe, and the swooping in his head was back, more violently, until there was nothing but black.

*

All Shion knew about sutures was from theory. Textbooks and videos he’d studied in grad school, but anatomy had never been his main focus, a hobby more than anything, a fascination.

            He knew more about chemistry. Wished Nezumi was a concoction. A cocktail of different ingredients, and Shion could see which ingredient he was low on, could mix this ingredient over just the right heat and drip milliliters of the brew into the space between Nezumi’s parted lips, watch it steam as it hit his tongue, watch Nezumi’s color return in a positive reaction to the solution he’d yielded.

            Nezumi woke while Shion consulted the video he’d pulled up on his laptop, balanced on the edge of the bed by Nezumi’s uninjured hip.

            “What’re you doing?” Nezumi whispered.

            Shion chose not to reply. He would shout if he did. He’d been trying not to shout upon finding Nezumi passed out in the hallway above the stairs. He’d been trying not to shout upon seeing the stains of blood Nezumi had left on the hallway carpet. He’d been trying not to shout upon seeing that these stains had come from both Nezumi’s shoulder and hip wounds. He’d been trying not to shout upon carrying Nezumi back to bed and cutting off his own t-shirt from Nezumi’s body and seeing that he’d ripped the stitches of both wounds, stitches Shion had hardly known a thing about in the first place, anatomy had only ever been a hobby, a fascination, a mystery to Shion.

            He’d been holding these shouts in the base of his throat, and his throat had tightened, closed up around them, and if Shion chanced speaking to Nezumi, every single shout would come out, and there would be nothing he could do about it.

            Shion pulled the suture tighter. Wiped at the blood on Nezumi’s skin with the wet washcloth he’d placed on the tray beside him.

            He’d given Nezumi anesthesia, but he almost wished he hadn’t. He wanted Nezumi to feel it. To feel everything Shion did. To feel how much it hurt.

            “Your Majesty,” Nezumi said, and Shion hated the nickname.

            Hated it in this voice that was not a voice at all but a breath of air. Hated that Nezumi had a nickname for him. Hated that Nezumi could call him anything, hated that Nezumi knew him, that Nezumi had met him, hated that it was because of him that Nezumi was lying here now, speaking without a voice at all.

            “Shion,” Nezumi said.

            Shion stuck the medical needle through Nezumi’s skin. He’d bought the supplies at a medical supply store online. The store only sold in bulk. It was meant for hospitals. It was not meant for terrified individuals who hardly knew a thing about anatomy, not even enough to call a hobby, not even enough to be a fascination, only enough to serve as a mystery.

            Shion had begged over the phone for an order of individual supplies. The company had insisted it was against their policy to do that. There were cardboard boxes in Shion’s room filled with suture kits. He had one hundred. He wanted to burn them, including the one in his hand that he pulled out of Nezumi’s skin.

            “I have to tell you something,” Nezumi was saying.

            Shion had already stitched up his hip. He was using an entirely new suture kit for the shoulder wound even though he didn’t need to. He didn’t care. He had one hundred. Nezumi could be shot ninety-eight more times, and Shion would be prepared for it.

            “There’s vomit on your dresser.”

            Shion had turned to look at his video again. A tutorial for suturing wounds. He wondered who else had used this tutorial. There were seven thousand five hundred and six views. Had seven thousand five hundred and five other people stitched gunshot wounds in their childhood rooms with only the faintest knowledge of anatomy? It seemed unlikely to Shion.

            Shion stared at the video and forgot to pay attention on how to tie up the final suture of the wound because of Nezumi’s words. He played them over in his head. They didn’t make sense. He looked at Nezumi and thought maybe the man had fallen asleep again, was dreaming.

            Nezumi’s eyes were open. The grey was flat and subdued.

            “What?” Shion asked. Maybe he’d heard wrong.

            Nezumi opened his lips. Closed them. They weren’t chapped because Shion had been applying lip balm to them while Nezumi slept. Nezumi opened his not-chapped lips again.

            “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

            Shion was even more surprised by these words than the previous ones. It was easier to believe Nezumi had somehow vomited on his dresser than that he was sorry. _Sorry for what?_ Shion wanted to ask, but instead he peered up at his dresser.

            There was, indeed, vomit on it. Shion looked back at Nezumi, whose eyes were closed.

            Shion let Nezumi pretend to be asleep as he finished the suture of his shoulder wound, then stood up to throw out the two used suture kits before cleaning up the vomit from his dresser.

*

Nezumi woke to find Shion shaving him.

            “Don’t move, or I’ll cut you,” Shion said, his eyes flitting up to meet Nezumi’s before lowering to his cheek again.

            “You don’t have to do that,” Nezumi said, having to wait to say it until Shion took the razor from his cheek and tapped it on something on the nightstand, which Nezumi assumed without turning to look was a bowl of water.

            “You look terrible with stubble,” Shion said.

            Nezumi didn’t reply until Shion had finished. Shion wiped his face with a wet washcloth. It felt warm and incredible on his skin. Nezumi wanted to shower.

            He’d been on Shion’s bed for ten days. He’d made his first successful solo trip to the bathroom the day before. It had not felt like a victory. It had felt like the most pathetic success Nezumi had ever heard of in his life.

            “Shion,” Nezumi said, when Shion got up from the bed.

            He’d collected the bowl of water and razor and shaving cream in his hands. He looked at Nezumi and looked exhausted.

            “I was thinking. They might do a trade,” Nezumi said.

            Shion adjusted the items in his hands. Didn’t say anything.

            “Saya seems to be under the impression that I’m of some value because I’m the only survivor of the Great Fire. She might trade me. We have the walkie talkie here, right? It was clipped to my belt at the compound, I’m sure you found it when you changed me out of my clothes. I could ask her.”

            “A trade,” Shion echoed, as if he hadn’t heard any of the other words.

            Nezumi forced himself to sit up, careful not to put weight on his injured arm. “It probably won’t be for all of the hostages. But maybe two of them. At the very least, we could ask for Safu.” Nezumi spoke very evenly. Very slowly. He didn’t want to repeat himself. He wanted Shion to hear and understand the first time, to agree right now so they wouldn’t have to talk about it again, so Nezumi wouldn’t have to argue to have himself taken prisoner, so they could just do it without thinking about it and then it would be done and Nezumi could regret it later, at some other time when it was too late to go back.

            “You want me to trade you for Safu,” Shion said.

            Nezumi clenched his jaw. Made himself relax. Nodded. Wished Shion would just say yes. Produce the walkie talkie immediately. Turn it on and get in contact with Saya and confirm the trade. Make Saya promise on it so there was no changing his mind. So he couldn’t take the words back even when he wanted to. So that they couldn’t break the promise because promises weren’t supposed to be breakable.

            Shion took a step back from him. “I think you need to sleep,” he said quietly.

            “I’ve slept!” Nezumi shouted, and it felt so good to raise his voice, to have a voice to raise at all. “That’s all I’ve done, Shion! Slept while you’ve goddamn spoonfed me! Just trade me. Get her back. That was the whole point. That’s why we went there, and I told you we’d free your friends, and we didn’t, but we still can. That’s why you came to the compound in the first place weeks ago, right? For Safu? That’s what all of this has been for, isn’t it? Maybe you can’t get all the hostages out, but count your loses, Shion, I’ve told you over and over that you can’t get everything you want. You have to settle. You have to compromise. You have to do this. You said you wouldn’t give up until she was free. You promised her.”

            Shion’s eyes were wide. “I’m not going to trade you. You can’t trade people.”

            Nezumi tried not to scoff. “Don’t be so naïve. You’ve seen enough of the world now to know better than that.”

            “Saya will kill you. She says she won’t, but she will,” Shion argued.

            Nezumi managed a smirk. It was almost easy, with Shion returned to his airheaded self. His idiotic, nonsense-spewing self. Acting like he knew everything there was to know in the world when, really, he knew nothing.

            “I’ll survive Saya. I’ve survived worse,” Nezumi said, and Shion just tilted his head at him.

            “If you’re awake, I’ll bring up some food for you. Try not to fall back asleep while I’m gone,” he finally said, and then he left the room.

            Nezumi sat and stared at his absence. He didn’t feel relief that Shion hadn’t agreed immediately to the trade. He didn’t need Shion to agree to the trade. It wasn’t Shion’s decision, and it had never been, and Nezumi didn’t even know why he’d bothered to ask.

            He leaned over and opened the drawer of the nightstand, but his walkie talkie wasn’t there. He glanced around the room. There was the dresser. The closet. The desk. The wooden trunk in front of the closet. There was the rest of the house as well, but Nezumi would search Shion’s room first.

            He had a plan, a course of action, a purpose, and it felt incredible to know he was no longer incapable, dependent, stuck in this place where he didn’t belong and never would.

*

The government was doing nothing to retrieve the hostages. It had been just over two months since Gold District civilians started being taken captive by the Resistance Force. Any offer the government made for their return was rebuked. The Resistance Force wanted more. Would not settle.

            “We should attack them. Our military is stronger than theirs,” Shion said. He was aware of his mother looking at him at his words, and glanced away from the television to look back at her.

            “Since when did you condone violence as an answer?” Karan asked. There was a crease between her eyes that Shion ignored.

            “They’ve had Safu for months! And other hostages for longer! How long is the Gold District just going to allow that? The Resistance Force’s demands are too high, there’s no way we’d ever be able to give them what they want.”

            “And war is what you would propose?” Karan asked.

            They sat in her bedroom on the edge of her bed to watch the television mounted on her wall. Shion’s hands were in fists on his knees.

            “I’m proposing action. War, yes. If that’s what it’s come to.” Shion’s voice was hard. He was angry. He was so angry, and had been for two weeks straight, the length of time Nezumi had been lying on his bed in his childhood bedroom.

            “It wouldn’t be a war. The Gold District’s military is vast with resources and weapons the Resistance Force cannot come close to matching. It would be a massacre, honey.”

            “It’s their fault! They took our people! They took Safu!” Shion was standing.

            His mother watched him carefully. When she spoke, it was calmly, made Shion feel like a child for shouting, losing his temper so easily. “Nezumi is the one who took Safu.”

            “They made him do it.”

            “How did they do that?”

            “He’s the last survivor of the Great Fire from the southern border areas! He has no one, and nothing, what was he supposed to do?”

            Karan tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear. “Everyone in the Resistance Force has a story like Nezumi’s. You haven’t taken the time to know them, so it’s easy to hate them. But it’s hard to hate Nezumi, isn’t it? Because you’ve become close to him. You’ve allowed yourself to know him, to understand him. You don’t see him as the enemy anymore. You see him as a human, like you are.”

            Shion shook his head. His eyes burned and he hated that. “I’ve met the others. Saya isn’t human. They aren’t – They aren’t like him.”

            “An attack on the Resistance Force would be another Great Fire, Shion. It would kill innocent people. It would break families. It would leave people who are just like Nezumi lost and alone. It wouldn’t be the right thing to do, I know you understand that, I raised you to understand that.”

            Shion pressed the bottoms of his palms to his eyes. “Maybe I’ve changed from how you’ve raised me. Maybe things are different now. What’s the other option? Leave Safu there forever? Leave all of them there forever?” He dropped his hands. His mother was right, and Shion knew this, but that didn’t make sense. He didn’t understand what he wanted. He didn’t think there was a better way.

            Maybe murder wasn’t wrong. Maybe it was necessary.

            “There is always another option. Even when it’s not obvious. Even when it takes time and patience to think of it. Shion, look at me. There is another option. A war would be wrong.” His mother’s voice was stern in a way Shion hadn’t heard it in years, maybe at all.

            Shion looked at her, saw that she was standing now. Her resolution was clear, and Shion thought he used to have beliefs like hers. That were solid. Unshakeable. Honorable.

            “I don’t know what happened to me,” Shion confessed, and when his mother hugged him, he cried into her shoulder. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried into his mother this way, but he knew he had, and this confused him.

            His life had always been privileged. He’d never had a reason to cry before. He’d never known what sadness was before. He’d never felt hopelessness so deeply in his chest that it took the space where his heart was meant to beat, and all he felt was the absence of this vital organ.

            “Terrible things have happened to you, honey. But you’re still here. You just need to find yourself again, and remember what you believe in, and why you believe in it.”

            Shion buried his face into his mother’s neck. Felt the stickiness of his sobs in his throat, and waited to remember what it felt to be comforted.

*

Nezumi turned off the walkie talkie when Shion walked into the room. He slipped it under his pillow and sat up to examine what Shion had on the tray he’d brought.

            “Spaghetti,” Shion announced triumphantly, as if this was some accomplishment. “If you eat it all, there’s even dessert,” he added, waggling his eyebrows.

            Nezumi narrowed his eyes. “You’re in a good mood.”

            Shion set the tray on his nightstand. “I’ve decided to be more positive. You’re alive. You’re doing well. It’s been seventeen days, and I think you’ve made great progress. I’m no longer worried that you’ll die.”

            “That’s comforting,” Nezumi muttered, glancing at the spaghetti. It was a heaping plate, a daunting amount of food compared to what Nezumi had been eating, but he was glad for it.

            He needed the energy. He was able to successfully walk around Shion’s room several times at once and take trips to the bathroom on his own, but he needed to be stronger. In three days, he was going to meet Saya at the gates of the Gold District, where she would bring Safu, and a trade would be made.

            Saya had informed Nezumi over their correspondence in the previous few days that Nezumi would not be returning to the border areas as a free man. He would be a hostage, but Nezumi was starting to understand he’d been a hostage his entire life. Trapped. Confined. Alone.

            He’d endured it before, and he could do it again. If Nezumi knew anything, it was how to survive when he had nothing to live for.

*

It was raining when Shion noticed his mother’s van was missing from the driveway. He left the window that he’d originally peered out of to watch the rainfall, drawn by the impending storm, and drifted into the kitchen.

            “Mom, what happened to the delivery van?”

            His mother was mixing some sort of batter in a large bowl. She glanced up. “What, honey?”

            “It’s not in the driveway.”

            Karan tilted her head. “It’s not?”

            “I’ll check again,” Shion said, but he didn’t go back outside.

            Theft did not occur in the Gold District. The people in the Gold District didn’t know how to hotwire cars. They didn’t know how to steal. They didn’t have any reason to, because the people in the Gold District had everything they wanted.

            Shion’s throat felt tight. He tried to keep his breaths even, certain he was wrong, certain he was speculating wildly and ridiculously.

            His bedroom was empty. Shion walked all the way to his bed, pressed his hand on the mattress, felt for any warmth, but there was none.

            Instead, there was a note lying on the pillow. Shion picked it up. Had to read it slowly, because Nezumi’s handwriting was atrocious.

            _Your Majesty,_  

            _I took one of your suture kits. Hope you don’t mind. Figured it might be useful to have where I’m going. Safu will drive back your mother’s delivery van when Saya lets her go, shouldn’t be any later than this afternoon._

_Don’t try to save me, or anyone else, Shion, I’m serious about that. You’ve done enough. More than anyone has ever done for me._

_-N_

            Shion read it twice, then dropped it to the bed. Ran to his cardboard boxes of suture kits that had been delivered through express packaging. Emptied the entirety of each box onto the floor, kits clattering on his carpet.

            He started counting them. If he’d read the note correctly, if he’d actually managed to decipher Nezumi’s handwriting, then there would only be ninety-seven kits.

            But maybe he’d read it wrong, and Nezumi wasn’t gone, and there would still be ninety-eight kits left. Shion knew there was an easier way to confirm the note; he could just look back at the bed and see that it was empty, he could just go to the bathroom and see that no one was in it, he could just search the house and call Nezumi’s name and see that he didn’t respond.

            But Shion preferred to count the kits. And when he finished counting, he started over, because ninety-seven was a big number, and it was possible he’d miscounted, there were tears in his eyes and he couldn’t see anyway, it was likely he’d miscounted, he’d probably miscounted.

            He counted again after the second time. Counted again after the third. Was counting the fourteenth time when his name was called from the doorway, and Shion turned to see Safu, and then she was running towards him, and they cried into each other’s bodies for so long that Shion forgot if he was crying out of relief or heartbreak.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! two quick things. 
> 
> one, please check out the newly posted nezushi fic by a super cool person called Their Wicked Minds! the premise is super interesting, and it's their first published fic on ao3, so i hope you support them!! http://archiveofourown.org/works/11701089/chapters/26346888  
> (also it was dedicated to me so we know it's good :D)
> 
> two, just wanna let you guys know that i'm not sure when the next update will be, for those who've gotten used to my daily updates with the fic. my boss just sent me a new manuscript to edit on a tight deadline, and i've got extra shifts at my parttime job, so time is sorta crunched at the moment, and i won't have much time to write. thank you for your patience, and i'll post a new chapt as soon as i can. thanks as always for reading! :)


	7. Chapter 7

Saya did not kill Nezumi. She took him home.

            Nezumi was left alone for two weeks. In this time, he recovered. Other members of the Resistance Force delivered medication to Nezumi’s door that Nezumi did not even know existed outside of the Gold District. They knocked on the door, and each time Nezumi answered it, they were gone in place of new medication or a delivery of food.

            Nezumi took the medication. His strength returned alarmingly quickly. He took out his own stitches and rebandaged his own wounds. They no longer ached. He slept easily and ate well. He left the walkie talkie on at all times, but never received a message. When he listened in on other stations, there was no mention of more break-ins at the compound. There were no new updates on the hostages, nor were there developments with negotiations with the Gold District government.

            Everything seemed to be at a standstill. Too calm. Nezumi was wary at the lack of word from Saya, who’d ensured him before the trade that he would be a prisoner, a hostage, property of the Resistance Force.

            Nezumi tried to read. He tried to cook. He was restless with the new energy recovering gave him. In the middle of the night a week after he’d been brought home, he ransacked his entire house. He didn’t know what he was looking for. Anything. Bugs planted by the Resistance Force. Video cameras. Some sort of device that slowly discharged poisonous gas into his home.

            He emptied the plateware and pots from his cupboards. Stripped his bed. Tore through his bathroom. Threw his books off his shelves in search of something, proof that he wasn’t free. He was supposed to be a hostage, and he felt like one, imprisoned, but there was no evidence of it. He’d been left in the home Saya had given him. All of his possessions seemed to be there. He was delivered food and supplies and medicine.

            Nezumi thought he would go insane for it. The anticipation. That was what it was. He pinned down the source for his paranoia at four in the morning on the tenth night of his return to the border area. He was waiting, but he didn’t know for what.

            On the fourteenth night, an end of his wait arrived with a knock at the door. Nezumi assumed it was more medication, though he didn’t need anymore. He was already taking less than was being delivered, weaning himself off of it. He didn’t need it. There was hardly any pain. He felt the strength he’d previously had. His wounds would leave scars, but they appeared, for all intents and purposes, fully healed.

            Nezumi opened the door after he threw the book he’d been trying to read back to the floor. He hadn’t replaced them on his shelf. He preferred having to walk around them. Accidentally falling onto them in the nights when he paced, restless, in the dark. Tripping over them. Stubbing his toes on them.

            “Hello, Nezumi. I see you’ve recovered.”

            Nezumi stared at Saya. She smiled at him in her sinister, joyless way, and Nezumi felt only relief that, for whatever happened next, at least the waiting was over.

*

The kidnappings started again two weeks after Nezumi traded himself for Safu.

            Shion sat in Safu’s house and watched more faces fill up the screen of the news. Three the first night. Two the second. Security in the Gold District was increasing, but the Resistance Force kidnapper was somehow evading it.

            “Do you think it’s Nezumi?” Safu asked.

            Shion had started sleeping over at her house. He told her he didn’t want her to be alone, an excuse that became especially valid after the kidnappings started again.

            Shion didn’t reply. He knew it was Nezumi. Saya was making him do it, and Shion knew that too, with just as much certainty.

            “I don’t understand.” Shion sat at the edge of Safu’s couch. It was comfier than Nezumi’s couch, and Shion would not have minded sleeping on it, but at nights he slept in Safu’s bed beside her. Her presence was comforting, but she was a still sleeper, and often throughout the night Shion felt the need to hold his hand below her nose to check that breaths were drifting in and out from her unmoving body.

            “That they’re taking hostages again?” Safu asked.

            Shion turned to her. She looked healthy again, the sallows of her cheeks filled out in the weeks since she’d come back home. “The Resistance Force must know it’s pointless. It’s not going to get them what they want.”

            “They don’t want money,” Safu replied, glancing back at the television.

            “What do you mean?”

            “I heard the guards talking to each other, and their leader – Saya, right? – talking to them over the walkie talkies. They know our government can never meet their demands. The demands are supposed to be impossible. That’s the point. So the government can’t meet them. The Resistance Force wants the Gold District to declare war. They’re taking more hostages to instigate our government into military action.”

            Shion glanced at the television screen. Updates were being given of a new law prohibiting Gold District citizens from bringing border area guests through the gates, as was previously allowed for citizens over twenty-one years of age. All people entering the Gold District were now required to have valid citizenship I.D.

            “Why would they want a war? They’ll lose.”

            “I don’t know. They never said. But I know that’s the goal. They were building another compound with more room for hostages. We were all scheduled to be transferred there a few days after I was freed, actually, and they’re turning the previous compound into something else. Maybe a military base? I’m not sure, they never said more about it in front of us.”

            Shion squinted, confused, worried. On the news in the background, an official statement from government officials was given declaring that if any border area inhabitant was seen within Gold District gates, they were to be shot on sight.

            _“In these fearful times, there is no longer availability for mercy towards the enemy. Above all other responsibility, there is the uncompromising duty to keep our families and friends safe. This is not a desire for violence. It is a demand for justice.”_

*

Nezumi had never killed anyone despite the number of times people had tried to kill him.

            He could not think of a reason for this. The Gold District stereotype of border area residents painted them as murderers. Conscious-less. Primitive, animal, cold.

            Nobody expected better from Nezumi, and Nezumi did not know why he had expected better from himself. He had injured more people than he could remember, and it was possible a few people he’d injured had died from the wounds he’d inflicted. Maybe he was a murderer, and he just didn’t know it.

            He stopped caring. He stopped wanting to be more. It didn’t matter who he was, or what he did. He didn’t give a shit, and he had no one to do so for him. He decided to kill not only Saya, but the entire Resistance Force. It was the only way to free himself from their orders and his imprisonment in his own house that he’d begun to resent.

            Nezumi did not act rashly. He was a patient man. He took his time to plan everything.

            In this time, Nezumi kidnapped citizens of the Gold District nightly on Saya’s orders. The Gold District had increased their security, and Nezumi’s Citizen Seizure Squad was disbanded. Saya trusted no one but Nezumi to get in and out without being caught, and she was right in this respect.

            He didn’t get caught. He knew what the Gold District did not, and that was how to survive.

            Nezumi had always known how to survive. He had forgotten briefly, thought there was something more important momentarily, but he would not make that mistake again, not for a second. Not for anyone.

*

Five weeks after Nezumi traded himself for Safu and three weeks after the kidnappings began again, the government distributed mace to each citizen.

            A week later, they allocated loaded guns on a mandate that at least one be present in each household. Forty-three hostages had been taken at this point by the Resistance Force. Citizens were advised to have a weapon on their bodies or within reach at all times, while awake or asleep.

            Shion still slept at Safu’s. Safu had taken apart the gun delivered to her house. Shion had held one of the bullets in the palm of his hand and thought it felt much too cool against his skin without blood to coat it.

            Shion watched for Nezumi on the windowsill in Safu’s living room at nights. He never saw the man, and he was glad for it.

            Shion had fallen asleep on this windowsill – two days after the distribution of the guns, one month after the kidnappings resumed, six weeks after Nezumi left a note on his pillow – when he opened his eyes abruptly.

            Shion blinked in the light. Street lights had been doubled on all streets and the nights were bright as day. Shion waited for his eyes to adjust, but even as he waited, he knew the silhouette in front of him immediately, recognized the man he squinted at until his eyes no longer burned.

            It took a moment more for Shion to pull up the voice that had shrunken down to the base of his spine. He reminded himself that this was only a dream. Shion dreamt often of Nezumi. In these dreams, Nezumi always died, so Shion supposed they were more accurately nightmares, but he did not dread them.

            The beginnings, at the very least, were incredible.

            “Hi,” Shion said. He liked that in this dream, Nezumi looked healthy. Strong. Like himself when Shion first knew him. The Nezumi Shion had almost forgotten, though such a thing seemed silly now. The sharp angles of this man must have been impossible to forget.

            Nezumi was also close enough to touch, but Shion kept his hands at his sides. He didn’t want to scare Nezumi away. Even in his dreams, Nezumi seemed wary. Confused. Uncertain that he should be in Shion’s subconscious at all, and Shion felt the same uncertainty.

            He never did understand Nezumi, and he didn’t understand his own constant musings on the man. Sleeping or awake, Shion wondered about him.

            “Hey,” Nezumi said, after what seemed like a full minute, maybe longer, maybe an eternity – time never did mean anything in dreams.

  
            “They have security officers patrolling every street. You shouldn’t stand here out in the open. Would you like to come inside?” Shion offered. He spoke softly, so as not to alert the security officers. In his dreams, they shot Nezumi always in the shoulder and the hip. One bullet each. Sometimes Shion was able to extract them from Nezumi’s body. Sometimes he woke too quickly, and those times were a relief. He hated the feeling of Nezumi’s blood on his hands.

            “This is Safu’s house,” Nezumi said, instead of coming inside. His smirk was barely there, nearly undetectable despite the well-lit street. “I knew she was your girlfriend.”

            “One of Safu’s neighbors might see you. We’re supposed to kill you on sight. They gave us guns,” Shion insisted, leaning forward a little.

            Nezumi was not dressed as a kidnapper. He was dressed as himself. Dark jeans. Boots. A grey long-sleeved shirt. His hair was in a braid over his right shoulder, and Shion wanted to run the pad of his thumb through the tuft of hair that poked out of the hairband tied around the end of it.

            “Are you going to kill me?” Nezumi asked. His eyes were bright from the streetlamps. There were no stars visible because of the light pollution, but Shion could easily pretend it was stars he saw in the grey that slowly assessed his features.

            The worst nightmares were those where Shion was the one with the gun in his hand and Nezumi at the other end of it.

            “It really would be okay if you came in,” Shion said, to avoid Nezumi’s question. “Safu’s probably asleep anyway, and she’s a deep sleeper. I’ve been staying with her. I don’t like leaving her alone.”

            “Do you think I’m going to kidnap her?” Nezumi asked, like it was a joke.

            Shion tilted his head. He didn’t think it was a joke. “What if they told you to?” It was something he wondered when he was awake.

            Nezumi narrowed his eyes. “You should stop falling asleep on your window ledge like this every night. It’s not safe with a kidnapper on the loose.”

            “How do you know I fall asleep like this every night?” Shion asked. He couldn’t help the small smile on his lips. The best dreams were the ones where Nezumi forgot to keep what he felt a secret.

            Shion liked to be confused by it. The linger of Nezumi’s looks.

            Nezumi’s fingers were in his hair. He shook his head. “I meant tonight.”

            “You said every night.”

            “Did I? Or is it just more nonsense you made up in your own head?” Nezumi snapped. His voice rose too loudly. His fingers tightened in his hair, then immediately loosened. His hand fell to his side. His expression smoothed over, like the surface of a body of water. Like Nezumi was not human at all, but a phenomenon of nature. An ocean. Something churning and deep, the darkest levels of him unexplored and fascinating. Temperate and unpredictable. Terrifying and deadly. Beautiful and breathtaking.

            Shion wondered how it might feel, to drown in him.

            The sudden alarms should have startled him awake. Shion nearly fell from the windowsill. He gripped the side of it so that his fingernails dug into the wood. Nezumi was looking over his shoulder at the cars that seemed to flood the street, all at once, abruptly, no warning at all but the rise of Nezumi’s voice, summoning them.

            “You have to go,” Shion warned. His heart was in his throat. Nezumi never got away in his dreams, but he always tried. Shion didn’t know why he wasn’t trying.

            “I have night’s cloak to hide me from their sight,” Nezumi said, and the words were so strange Shion forgot his fear.

            His fingers loosened from the sides of the windowsill. He squinted at Nezumi, who almost looked like he was smiling, but then he was turning away from Shion, his hands up.

            “Don’t shoot!” he shouted.

            The streetlamps were bright. Security officers were streaming out of the cars onto Safu’s front lawn. Their guns were pointed at Nezumi. Nezumi knew he’d been seen. He knew he hadn’t been hidden, and Shion considered that the words Nezumi had spoken regarding the cloak of night were not only strange, but familiar.

            Shion turned them over on his tongue. Watched Nezumi kneel on the grass. Waited for him to be shot. Once in the shoulder, once in the hip.

            “Show us your I.D.’s!” the nearest security officer was demanding. Shion’s was in his pocket. He knew to have it when he slept on the windowsill, as oftentimes patrolling officers would stop by, see him sitting, ask him to reveal it.

            “I don’t have one,” Nezumi said, instead of lying. Instead of saying it was inside the house. Instead of using the time he bought for himself to produce a syringe from his pocket or steal the gun from the officer or do something else, save himself – he was always saying how much he knew about survival, but he died every time in Shion’s dreams as if he forgot how to survive when Shion was near, as if Shion was a weakness to him, an omen, a promise of his death.

            “Are you a citizen of the Gold District?” the security officer demanded.

            Another had taken Shion’s I.D. from him, looked over it, given it back. Shion and Nezumi were encircled by the officers and their guns. Every gun pointed at Nezumi. Shion wanted to remind them of the rules.

            They were only allowed to shoot Nezumi twice, once on his shoulder, once on his hip. Nowhere else. That was how it always was. That was how it had to be.

            “I’m not the kidnapper. I’m not with the Resistance Force,” Nezumi said, so earnestly Shion believed him. Maybe in the universe of this particular dream, Nezumi was not in the Resistance Force. Maybe he was not even a border area resident. Maybe he was from the Gold District. Maybe he and Shion had lived close to each other their whole lives, grown up together, gotten to know each other the right way and developed feelings for each other that made sense to develop.

            “If you don’t show an I.D., we have to kill you. Do you understand? This isn’t a game. This isn’t the time to fool around.”

            “I’m not the kidnapper. I’m not supposed to be here, but I’m not the kidnapper, and if you killed me, you’d be killing an innocent man,” Nezumi insisted, voice strained like he believed this too, like he really was innocent.

            This wasn’t what he was supposed to say. He never said any of this before he was shot in Shion’s nightmares.

            Instead, just before he was shot, he would lean close to Shion. And he would whisper, lips nearly touching Shion’s ear – _Everything is going to be okay. Don’t panic._

            And Shion would believe him, every time.

            But this nightmare was different than the usual nightmares.

            None of the usual nightmares had occurred by Safu’s house. They were usually in the border area. They were usually in the compound, or running from it, or in Shion’s mother’s delivery van, trying to get through the gate but stopped by the border patrol agents with new regulations against guests entering the Gold District.

            At this range, Nezumi was not close enough to whisper to him. Shion slid off the windowsill to make it easier for him.

            “Don’t get any closer to him!” an officer shouted, as if Nezumi would hurt him, as if such a thing could occur in a dream.

            “I’m not going to hurt him,” Nezumi said, and he was standing from where he’d kneeled.

            “Nezumi,” Shion whispered. He tried to warn Nezumi in each nightmare but could never get the words out. They stuck in his throat. They burned the ridges of it so that it hurt to swallow.

            “I’m in love with him. I’m not going to hurt him,” Nezumi was saying.

            Proof that it was just a dream. Not that Shion had thought anything else. He’d known it was a dream. It was always just a dream for Nezumi to be standing so close to him they could touch.

            There was a pause, and then, “Are you a Gold District citizen or a border area inhabitant?”

            It was the officer with her gun pointed at Nezumi’s head. It had no reason to be pointed there. Nezumi was not allowed to get shot in the head. This was not reality, and there were rules that Shion’s subconscious followed, and this officer who was part of his subconscious needed to follow them.

            “I just wanted to see him. I know what it looks like, but the politics of the border area conflict don’t mean anything to me. Imprison me if you must, but it would be murder to kill me. I didn’t ask for this, that I must love a loathed enemy.”      

            It took a few seconds, but then Shion pressed his hand to his mouth, his understanding coming to him in a gasp of quiet sound.

            _I have night’s cloak to hide me from their sight._

            The words were strange because they weren’t Nezumi’s at all.

            _That I must love a loathed enemy._

            This wasn’t the usual nightmare because the script was different. It was a play Shion had read at Nezumi’s kitchen table with Nezumi reading on the chair beside him, their plates from dinner empty and pushed to the side. Nezumi was acting, and the guns were lowering, and Shion didn’t know his lines so he kept quiet, uncertain, his heart too loud for his voice to be heard anyway.

            “If you are not a citizen, you have still broken into the Gold District illegally,” the officer said slowly. Her eyes slipped to Shion, then returned to Nezumi.

            “I had to,” Nezumi insisted, almost desperately. It was a tone of Nezumi’s voice Shion only knew from when he’d begged Nezumi to read aloud one of Shakespeare’s plays.

            Nezumi had slipped on voices that did not belong to him as easily as if could turn himself into anyone at will. As if he had no attachment at all to his own skin, could shed it so simply, so willingly. As if he was eager to be rid of it.

            “Well, even so. We’ll have to detain you.” It was clear the officer was uncertain. All of the officers surrounding them were.

            Shion was uncertain as well. This was nothing like his usual nightmares, and he didn’t know how it would end.

            Nezumi shook his head. Tucked his hair behind his ear. “I had to see him.”

            The officer looked away from him. “Yasahiro. Grab cuffs from the car,” she said, and another officer slipped out of the circle.

            Shion waited for Nezumi to use this opportunity. There were no longer guns pointed at him. There was a hole in the circle of officers surrounding him. He would escape now. That was the plan.

            Nezumi didn’t look away from the officer who’d been speaking to him, who’d given the order for the cuffs. “Can I say goodbye to him?” he asked.

            The officer was looking at Shion. Shion stared back. He did not know how to act. Nezumi had told him this, when Shion had taken the book from Nezumi’s hands in Nezumi’s kitchen and attempted to voice the characters’ lines himself.

            _“You have to put yourself aside. Forget everything it is that you want and think only of what the character wants. You have to be willing to forget who you are.”_

            Shion tried to follow the advice. To forget who he was. To think of his character, what his character would want.

            In this scenario, in this peculiar dream, Shion knew he was Juliet, with Romeo having come to his window. He would be yearning. They were star-crossed lovers. Shion was helplessly in love.

            “Quickly,” the officer finally said, and then Nezumi was stepping towards Shion, and the officers were looking away – privacy, they were giving them privacy, and this was when Nezumi would escape, this had been Nezumi’s plan all along.

            Nezumi was not escaping. He stood too close to Shion. His fingers were on the side of Shion’s neck, and they felt too warm – in the usual nightmares, Nezumi’s skin was always too cold. It was his blood that was warm when it left him and coated Shion’s hands.

            Nezumi leaned closer. Shion waited to wake up.

            Instead, he was kissed. Nezumi’s lips were incredibly soft. Barely there. Warm like sunlight that he’d swallowed. Shion’s heart was in his own lips. He knew Nezumi could feel his heartbeat through the kiss. It was just a dream, and it felt like it – unreal, unfathomable, incomprehensible.

            When Nezumi pulled away, Shion thought it was a mistake. They were acting. They needed to sell their story. They were star-crossed lovers, they were Romeo and Juliet, they were senseless and passionate, they were willing to die for each other, they were more in love than could ever be good for them.

            Shion reached out. Caught the fabric of Nezumi’s t-shirt in front of his chest. Pulled Nezumi back to him.

            This was not supposed to be their first kiss. It was not supposed to be soft and tentative the way first kisses were. They were acting like long-loves. This was a hundredth kiss.

            Shion parted his lips this time. Kissed Nezumi fully when he’d pulled the man completely back to him. This was only a dream, so he didn’t need a reason. In a dream, it made sense to kiss this man. In a dream, Nezumi would die soon, and it was only right to kiss him. In a dream, there was no consequence to not thinking at all about what he was doing.

            In a dream, it only made sense to kiss him right, to kiss him properly, and Nezumi’s breath was hot, and Shion’s chest was squeezing, and then Nezumi was abruptly gone from him, stumbling back while Shion blinked.

            Nezumi was being handcuffed. His bangs were in his eyes, so Shion could not see them, but he could see when Nezumi licked his lips briefly before he was pulled away completely.

            “Wait for me!” Nezumi called, behind his shoulder as he was dragged away, and Shion watched him, unsure if this was part of the act, some line Romeo had called in a scene he couldn’t remember, but he didn’t have the play memorized like Nezumi did.

            “You should get inside,” an officer said, and Shion startled, hadn’t realized an officer had lingered beside him while the rest were piling back into their cars. “The Resistance Force could still be out,” the officer continued, “it’s not safe to linger outside.”

            Shion nodded numbly, and then the officer was leaving him, returning to her companions, and Nezumi was hidden in one of their cars, and they were driving away.

            As suddenly as it’d filled, the street was empty again but for the bright lights of the streetlamps.

            Shion touched his lips and hoped he wouldn’t wake.

*

There was no prison in the Gold District because there were no criminals in the Gold District.

            Anyone who stepped out of line was banished to the border areas, where the criminals belonged.

            Nezumi knew this. He also knew that the most secure building in the Gold District – and therefore, where he would be kept until Gold District officials figured out what to do with him – was their main government office premises, the Golden Tower. It was the tallest skyscraper in the center of town, and as disgusted as Nezumi was by its opulence, he hadn’t been able to help peering out the side of the glass elevator to watch the rest of the city shrink below him when he was taken to the twentieth floor, where he was locked in what looked to be a conference room.

            Nezumi stayed in this room for a half hour. Then he left. An officer had taken off his handcuffs before leaving him, and the lock on the door was easy enough to pick.

           Twelve hours after Nezumi broke out of his pathetic confines, he crouched in the backyard of a house near the center district and peeked through slats of blinds over a window to watch his own face on the news. The photograph had been taken of him just before his handcuffs had been taken off and he was left alone in the Golden Tower. The volume of the television was loud enough for him to hear –

            _“Three government officials are missing, assumed to be taken hostage due to notes still undisclosed to the press that were discovered in the offices of the officials just a half hour ago. The main suspect is the pictured border area infiltrator – believed to be a member of the Resistance Force – who was found in the Gold District and taken into custody in the Golden Tower at just past four this morning. A statement from the head of the security division as to why the border area infiltrator was taken into custody rather than Shot On Sight, as is the current policy, is the following –_

_“ ‘The border area infiltrator was assessed by a team of security officials, all of whom determined him not to be a security threat. Clearly, a mistake was made, and I accept full responsibility for the actions of my security force. We are working to ensure no further mistakes of this kind occur.’_

_“Why exactly the border area infiltrator was not deemed a security threat was leaked by an unnamed security officer who was directly involved in the finding and incarceration of the infiltrator. The security officer revealed in an exclusive Channel 6 news interview that the infiltrator pretended to be ‘lovestruck’ and unable to keep himself away from his ‘lover’ – a documented Gold District citizen – despite the temporary ban on all border area guests inside Gold District gates. The security officer additionally stated that the border area infiltrator had a possible accomplice – the alleged lover, whose name will not be publically disclosed at this time – who did not refute the infiltrator’s ‘lovestruck’ claims to the security officers during the arrest._

_“No information is currently known on whether the alleged Gold District lover will be taken into custody and questioned on his involvement with the border area infiltrator. The security officer interviewed could not make a statement on the likelihood that the Gold District citizen played along with the border area infiltrator’s scheme only out of fear of the infiltrator._

_“It is recommended that while the border area infiltrator is on the loose within the Gold District, all citizens stay indoors. Let’s check in with Chiharu on more security strategies to employ during this time.”_

            Nezumi cursed under his breath. He hadn’t considered that Shion would get saddled with part of the blame. The best scenario was that Shion stuck with the “out of fear” excuse, chalked up his involvement on being scared shitless that Nezumi would have killed him if he hadn’t let himself be used as a border area resident’s pretend “lover” and kissed against his will for the ploy.

            Nezumi hoped none of the security officers involved in his arrest had noticed that Shion had pulled Nezumi towards him for a deeper kiss after the first. He doubted that would work well with the entire “against his will” factor of Shion’s excuse.

            Nezumi strung his fingers through his bangs. He needed to get back to the three government officials he’d locked in a boiler room within the Golden Tower and re-inject them with the new serum he’d created before enacting the next part of his plan. The new serum was stronger than his previous one in that it knocked people out for ten hours, but the ten-hour frame was almost up.

            Nezumi ducked away from the window. A glance at his watch told him he had just over an hour to break back into the Golden Tower, and with his face now publicized to the entire district, this left little time to spare.

*

Shion was questioned by three security officers, including the head of the security division, and two government officials before he was left alone.

            Safu paced in front of him, while Shion tried to watch the news around the obstruction of her restlessness.

            “I don’t know how you can keep defending him. He must have known involving you like this would have incriminated you as well!” she said, not for the first time.

            “Can you pace in the bedroom?” Shion suggested.

            Safu stopped pacing directly in the front of the television and regarded Shion with her hands on her hips. “Something in those undisclosed notes Nezumi left in the offices of the government officials have them thinking something is different with these hostages. What if Nezumi killed them?”

            “He’s not a murderer.”

            “You don’t know that.”

            “He told me.”

            Safu threw her hands in the air. “You have to stop thinking everyone is as good as you want them to be! I don’t understand this, Shion, it doesn’t make sense that you would be on his side. He kidnapped me and nearly fifty other people! He kept you as a hostage! He sexually assaulted you last night as a step for some insane plan to break into our government and take our officials hostage!”

            Shion frowned, no longer attempting to crane his neck to see the television screen behind Safu. “He didn’t sexually assault me.”

            “He kissed you against your will.”     

            “It wasn’t against my will.”

            “You wanted to be kissed by a criminal who kidnaps people for a living?”

            “I kissed him back,” Shion said, making sure he spoke clearly. He couldn’t allow Safu to believe that Nezumi had sexually assaulted him. The idea of it made him sick.

            That wasn’t what had happened. He realized, with his statements to the security officers and government official, that was how it seemed.

            Shion knew he had to pretend not to have known Nezumi. To insist that he’d acted the night before out of fear, that he’d acted as if he were Nezumi’s boyfriend only because Nezumi was from the border area, and that made him dangerous, and Shion had been scared of him.

            With these lies, the kiss between himself and Nezumi became unwilling, but that wasn’t the truth. Shion needed the officers to believe the lie, but he couldn’t let Safu think that as well.

             “What are you talking about?” Safu was asking.

            “I pulled him back when he moved away from me. I kissed him back.”

            “You thought it was a dream,” Safu said slowly.

            “What difference does that make?” Shion demanded, and it wasn’t rhetorical.

            He wanted to know if it made a difference. He needed to know if it mattered that he’d thought it was a dream, if it mattered that he’d kissed Nezumi only because it’d seemed like it was all in his head.

            He didn’t know if he’d have kissed Nezumi otherwise.

            “The difference is that in dreams, there are no consequences. If you are sexually attracted to someone, which you clearly are to Nezumi, there is no reason not to kiss him within your own subconscious conjectures. In a dream, he doesn’t have to be the real Nezumi, he can simply be a physical representation of him. But in reality, Shion, to knowingly kiss Nezumi is to knowingly kiss a man who is a criminal, who has committed crimes and hurt people and propagated fear and terror and is an integral part in the instigation of a war against the Gold District, where you live, where your family lives, where people you love live.”

            Shion felt himself deflate against the back of Safu’s couch. He pulled his socked feet up onto the cushion and hugged them to his chest. “It was just a kiss,” he managed, and then Safu was on the couch beside him, and Shion glanced at her, his shame heating his skin.   

            He wanted to argue. He wanted to tell her she was wrong about Nezumi, but he couldn’t think of anything she’d said that he could refute.

            Safu sighed, tucked her hair behind her ears. “I’m sorry, I’m just trying to understand. I’m not used to not knowing everything you’re thinking the way you know everything I’m thinking. It’s always made me feel safe, and now it feels strange that there’s a part of you that’s unknown to me.”

            Shion nodded. Allowed Safu to string her fingers through his, squeeze his hand gently.

            “I know I just yelled at you, I promise I won’t do that again. You can tell me, Shion. You’re the most important person in my life, I love you no matter what,” she said, a crease of concern slipping between her eyes. “What is it that you really feel for Nezumi?”

            Shion looked at his friend, then heard the term _border area infiltrator_ for the hundredth time that night. He glanced at the television, saw that Nezumi’s face again filled up the screen.

            The photograph that had been taken featured Nezumi without an expression at all, his face completely smooth, but Shion could easily conjure in his head the nearly imperceptible lift of Nezumi’s lips, the quiet of his fleeting smile, the glint of the streetlamps in his eyes like constellations just before he leaned too close for Shion to see, just before he kissed Shion so softly it might only have been moonlight that painted his lips.

            Shion turned back to Safu. Regarded her concern and tried to offer her the truth, even when he could hardly name it in his own head.

*


	8. Chapter 8

Nezumi left a second set of notes for the Gold District government after breaking back into the Golden Tower and re-injecting the three government officials he was keeping in the boiler room.

            Six hours after leaving the second set of notes, war was declared on the border areas, and the prime target was Resistance Force territory. Nezumi had bugged several floors of the Golden Tower and listened to the feed of his planted microphones on a station he’d linked them to on his Resistance Force walkie talkie.

            The only issue in Nezumi’s plan to wipe out the entirety of the Resistance Force was the chance that the Gold District hostages kept in the new compound would also be in the line of fire. Nezumi assumed Gold District military would take care not to harm their own people.

            Of course, Nezumi knew Saya’s end goal was war. It had been her idea for Nezumi to get himself “caught” by the Gold District government officials. It had been her idea to use Shion as a fake love interest to prevent Nezumi from being accused as the kidnapper and shot on sight, and instead be taken into temporary custody as a border area infiltrator to be apprehended in the Golden Tower.

            Most of Nezumi’s plan, in fact, had been Saya’s idea, but for a main component, which was that Saya’s plan was not supposed to take place until the bombs the Resistance Force was making were fully operational and planted throughout the Gold District by Nezumi himself.

            The date for Saya’s plan to go into action was not for another two months at least. A war declared on the Resistance Force at this point would wipe them out.

            A massacre just like the southern border area fire seventeen years before. No different but that Nezumi would not be a victim of it.

            He did not care about the families that would be torn apart. He did not care that the Resistance Force was initially in place to help the border areas. He did not care that not everyone on the force was as corrupt as Saya.

            Nezumi only cared for himself. That was the stereotype of a border area resident, and Nezumi was done shying away from it.

            It was only in the very quiet moments that Nezumi thought about Shion’s hand on his t-shirt, pulling him back, Shion’s mouth open over his, hot breath and wet lips – a distraction from the plan, a fault in Nezumi’s aim to only care about himself and nothing else.

            Fortunately, there were not many quiet moments, as Nezumi was kept busy organizing the massacre of a few hundred people, and he found it remarkably easy not to have room to think about Shion at all.

*

When the war against the border areas was announced to the public, Shion assumed Nezumi had been acting under Saya’s orders to instigate it until Safu informed him that Saya hadn’t wanted the war to occur for another few months.

            “This wasn’t the Resistance Force. It’s Nezumi acting on his own,” Safu had insisted.

            “He wouldn’t start a war unless he was forced to,” Shion had argued.

            “Shion. Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think. You were only really around him for two weeks. That’s not enough to know a person.”

            “I know him,” Shion had replied, voice hard, and Safu hadn’t argued.

            Now, Shion was walking into the Golden Tower.

            Since the declaration of the war a few hours before, the Gold District had been on lockdown. School was cancelled for the foreseeable future, roads were crammed with people trying to get emergency provisions from grocery stores, families were encouraged to find safe places to stay if they didn’t feel secure in their homes with centers being opened at vacant schools, gyms, recreational buildings, and other emptied facilities.

            Public transport was also being shut down at midnight, and Shion just managed to hop on one of the last trains to get to the center of the district. The Golden Tower was usually a building open to the public, but after climbing the steps to the entrance, he found the front doors locked.

            A security officer approached him, wearing a half-body armor Shion had never seen on a district officer.

            “Sir, the Golden Tower is closed right now. I advise you to head home or find the closest shelter, it’s best not to be out at this time.”

            “I need to get in. It’s about the border area infiltrator.”

            “If you have information or have made a sighting of the infiltrator, you may file a report. The hotline is – ”

            Shion touched the note in pocket that had been sitting under a rock on Safu’s doorstep. Safu had discovered it when she’d opened her front door at a knock ten minutes after text alerts went out to every citizen about the official declaration of a war-state.

            Shion didn’t take out the note. He knew better than to share the information scrawled in terrible handwriting on it with anyone in the government.

            “I’m the alleged Gold District conspirator that the border area infiltrator used as a love interest so that security officers wouldn’t shoot him on sight. I’ve been working with the border area Resistance Force, and I want to turn myself in,” Shion said, making sure to speak clearly.

            He had not made a plan. He was acting rashly, and his heart was in his ears, and he didn’t altogether know what he was doing but that he had to get into the Golden Tower through any means necessary.

            The security officer stared at him, then took a walkie talkie from her belt and spoke quickly into it, relaying Shion’s own words and a request for back-up.

            In half a minute, the Golden Tower doors were opening, and three more security officers were piling out. They grabbed Shion roughly, and he flinched but didn’t resist.

            “I’ll go willingly,” Shion said weakly, his arms jerked back as he was handcuffed.

            “Check him for wires, weapons, or bombs, this may be a plant by the Resistance Force to take down the Golden Tower from within,” an officer said, and Shion felt as he was patted down, more thoroughly than he found necessary.

            “Hey, I recognize him,” another officer said. “He’s the one. The lover of the border area infiltrator.”

            “He was cleared, they said he wasn’t in on it.”

            “I was,” Shion spoke up. “I was in on it, and I’d like to speak to – ”

            “Get him inside, keep him somewhere for now, we haven’t got time to deal with him, and for God’s sake _do not_ let this one escape!” the first officer shouted, and then Shion was being hauled inside the building.

            The air conditioning that hit him was a relief from the heat of the late afternoon. Shion had to walk quickly to keep from tripping as the officer holding his arm dragged him to an elevator.

            “What if we used him as bait? You know, if he’s the infiltrator’s boyfriend or whatever, he could be like a hostage to get the infiltrator to come out of hiding and give up our government officials and even the rest of the hostages – ”

            “We’re not stooping to the sorts of games the border area plays, are you serious, Daichi? And he’s not really the guy’s lover, that was just a scheme so that the infiltrator could get into the Tower and take our officials!” snapped the officer holding Shion, his hand tightening around Shion’s arm.

            “Oh. I thought they actually seemed pretty in love though, you know, I was there. I have a sense for these things. I set up my cousin and her wife, you know, and Jun down at border security said I was spot on when I told her the new guy was giving her suggestive looks.”

            “Shut up, Daichi.”

            “Copy that.”

            Shion didn’t know where he was being taken, but he knew the security on him would be much stronger than it had been on Nezumi when he’d been captive for as briefly as that had lasted before he broke out. The handcuffs were tight around Shion’s wrists, and he was reminded too strongly of the ropes that had frequently been tied around his wrists when he’d been a hostage in the border area.

            “What are you going to do with me?” Shion asked.

            “These elevators are so fucking slow,” the officer holding his arm muttered.

            “We could take the stairs,” Shion suggested, thinking maybe he could find a way to trip the officers in the stairway and escape that way.

            Not that he knew where exactly Nezumi was. He only knew that Nezumi was in the Golden Tower, but the building was the largest skyscraper in the entire district.

            Shion ideally wanted to find some sort of control room where a video feed could tell him Nezumi’s exact whereabouts, but of course, Nezumi must have dismantled those or found somewhere the cameras weren’t focused, or he would have been found by the officers.

            “I’m not walking twenty flights of stairs,” another officer – the one they’d called Daichi – complained. “My knees hurt when it’s about to rain, and you can tell, look out those windows, those look like storm clouds. My knees are aching like all hell.”

            “Didn’t I tell you to shut up, Daichi?”

            The elevator dinged and opened. Shion was shoved in, and the security officers followed, took him up to the twentieth floor, then pulled him out and marched him to what looked like a conference room.

            “We have to get back to our stations. You’re watching him, Daichi, don’t let him out of your sight. You’re still on probation, and I can make sure it’s unarguably agreed upon that your presence here is unnecessary if you slip up again. Understand?”

            “Copy that,” Daichi said again, this time earning himself a glare from the security officers who then left, locking the door so that Shion was left with Daichi alone and still cuffed.

            Daichi turned to Shion while Shion again surveyed the room, trying to come up with a plan to get out. “You guys were really in love, right?”

            Shion stopped looking around and stared at the security officer who watched him. He had to think fast. He tried to figure out what Nezumi would do in this situation.

            Lie. Act. Free himself by figuring out his enemy and using his upper hand, but Shion couldn’t tell exactly what his upper hand was, couldn’t figure out Daichi at all.

            “Um,” Shion hedged, then settled on giving Daichi the answer he thought the officer wanted. “Yes, we were in love. Are in love. That’s how it started out. He was in the Resistance Force, and made their message sound like something I wanted to get behind, so I joined.”

            Daichi was nodding knowingly, his finger tapping his chin. “Ah, I suspected so. I have a sense for these things – romance, you know.”

            Shion pulled his wrists against the hand cuffs. “Do you think you could loosen these? They’re digging at my skin.”

            Daichi frowned, then tucked his hands in his pockets as if searching before holding his hands up, empty. “Ah. Shit. Seems I forget to get the keys from Tadashi.”

            Shion bit the inside of his cheek. Released it. “Maybe you could get it? I’m sorry, it just really hurts my wrists.”

            “See, I definitely would, but I’m on thin ice here, and I don’t know if you noticed, but Tadashi finds me less appealing than scum on the underside of his shoe, if you know what I mean,” the officer said, chuckling in a helpless way.

            Shion pulled his wrists up against the cuffs, trying not to wince as Daichi shrugged and continued.

             “It’s not that I’m blaming you, you know, love makes people do crazy things, so none of this is your fault, probably. It’s all that dopamine and serotonin. That’s the stuff that love releases, right? That makes your brain just go completely wracked so you do things like join forces with criminals? Something like that, anyway. But all the officers who were at your place last night and arrested the infiltrator instead of shooting him like the new policy states, we’re all on probation. The rest of the officers sort of hate us right now,” Daichi added with another chuckle, weaker than the previous one.

            “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble,” Shion said, trying not to gasp on a particularly hard tug at the cuffs. He leaned against the side of the conference table and took a break from trying to free himself.

            Daichi pulled one of the chairs out from the conference table and sat. “Don’t worry about it, like I said, it’s all those drugs love pumps in the brain. You know, I’d love to be in love. Must be like an adrenaline rush, right? Never felt it myself, but I’m sure when I do, I’ll – ”

            The door swung open, swallowing the rest of Daichi’s thought, and Nezumi walked through with a gun that he pointed at Daichi.

            He pulled the trigger before Shion could shout out, but there was no gunshot.

            Even so, Daichi slumped immediately to the floor.

            “It’s remarkable how idiotic this guy is. He does not run out of stupid things to talk about. I’ve been victim to his incessant chatter for the last few hours. He’s almost worse than you,” Nezumi said, walking over to Shion, whose shock pulsed in waves over his skin.

            “Nezumi?” he asked, when his voice returned.

            “Can’t say it’s great to see you,” Nezumi said, frowning before he walked behind Shion and Shion couldn’t see his expression. Shion could feel Nezumi’s cool fingers along his wrists, jostling the handcuffs. “Did you pull at these? Your wrists are raw. Don’t you ever learn?”

            Shion tried to make sense of Nezumi calmly walking into the room where he was meant to be kept captive. “How did you know I was here?” Shion glanced at Daichi, slumped in his chair, and tried to see if his body was moving from his breaths.

            “Got the place bugged and heard your melodramatic arrival. Picked the lock to get in here. Hit your new best friend with a sedative, so he’s alive, don’t worry. Now I’m letting you go, ta da – ” with a click of the handcuffs, Shion felt them loosen and Nezumi’s fingers pull them free from his wrists – “and you’re going to get out of here and not come back. Sound good? It’s a nuisance that I’ve got to get you out of here in the first place.”

            There were murmurings sounding from Nezumi, and Shion realized after he turned around that the sounds were coming from the walkie talkie clipped on Nezumi’s waistband. Shion assumed it was from the feed of the recording devices he’d apparently planted around the Golden Tower.

            “I got your note,” Shion said, pulling the note out of his pocket after rubbing his wrists and looking away from the walkie talkie to look at Nezumi fully.

            The man looked tired. His hair was pulled into a ponytail. The skin under his eyes were dark, but his eyes themselves were focused, not leaving Shion’s face even as he unfolded the note.

            “ ‘Don’t go into the center district, that’s where the Resistance Force will target if they retaliate,’ ” Shion read. He had it memorized – it was only one short sentence, and he’d read it several times in the previous two hours – but to look down at the note and read it allowed him a break from Nezumi’s focused stare.

            “And your response to this note was of course to disobey it immediately,” Nezumi said dryly.

            “It’s written on government-stamped paper. They only have that here at the Golden Tower. I knew that meant you were here.”

            “Am I supposed to praise you for this amateur detective work?” Nezumi asked. His fingers were strung through his bangs.

            Shion leaned forward. To see Nezumi still dazed him. It felt like it’d been years, but it’d only been the night before.

            A part of Shion still wondered if their kiss had only been a dream.

             “I know you think you have to do this, I know you think you have no other option than to work for Saya, but starting a war under the orders of a group you don’t even believe in? Nezumi, you can’t do this.”

            Nezumi shook his head, his fingers freeing from his bangs and his hand falling to his side. “If you’re going to start lecturing, do it on the move. We’ve got to get you out of here.”

            “I’m not leaving until you get the war called off,” Shion said, while Nezumi grabbed his wrist and Shion winced, the skin already sore without Nezumi’s tight grip.

            The man pulled him from the conference room.

            “And how am I supposed to do that?” Nezumi asked mildly, looking down both sides of the hall before pulling Shion to a doorway that he opened, revealing staircase.

            “The government officials are still here, right? You must be keeping them somewhere here. You can’t have had time to take them all the way back to the border areas and then return. If you give them back, it would be seen as an olive branch, a sign of – ”

            “They’re dead,” Nezumi said shortly, and Shion stopped running down the stairs beside Nezumi.

            Nezumi still held his wrist and kept going, and Shion was jerked forward so suddenly he nearly fell on his face but for Nezumi reaching out, grabbing him, holding him steady against the banister of the staircase.

            “That’s a lie,” Shion argued. One of Nezumi’s hands was still around his wrist and the other his waist, though only momentarily before Nezumi retracted it.

            “Why would I lie about that?”

            “You’re not a murderer. You said so yourself.”

            “And you said I should have killed Saya when I had the chance. This is my chance. What, have you changed your mind?” Nezumi snapped, his fingers loosening around Shion’s wrist for just a second, then tightening again. “We don’t have time for this, come on.”

            Shion stumbled when Nezumi pulled him again. He had to watch his feet as he ran down the stairs so he wouldn’t trip, but he wanted to look at Nezumi, to see his expression. “What do you mean, ‘this is your chance’? To kill Saya? What are you talking about?”

            He remembered Safu’s insistence that the Resistance Force hadn’t wanted war for another few months. He tried to put it out of his mind.

            “Don’t worry about it, Your Majesty,” Nezumi replied, and Shion considered asking him if it was his fault after all – if the war, if the impeding violence and deaths were all Nezumi’s fault, not an order from Saya or the Resistance Force but his own doing altogether.

            Shion didn’t want to know that Nezumi was responsible. Shion didn’t want to know that Nezumi was capable of any of it. He was supposed to be good. He was supposed to be struggling to do the right thing, but inherently good.

            Shion said nothing as they descended the rest of the stairs. He didn’t know where Nezumi was taking him, but soon they were stopping, Nezumi pulling Shion to a doorway, pausing beside it.

            “Where are we?”

            “The main floor. You’ll have to run for it, don’t let anyone catch you, that’s the best plan I’ve got right now,” Nezumi said.

            “What about you?” Shion demanded, while Nezumi pressed his ear to the door.

            “I have to stay here and make sure there are no more inconveniences to the plan,” Nezumi said pointedly. “And I need to keep track of their attacks, I want to know when the Resistance Force has been demolished. It’s not like I can go anywhere else anyway, my face is all over the news, so where I’ve been hiding out here is the best I’ve got till they stop attacking the border areas and I can head back there.”

            Shion walked to the door Nezumi still pressed his ear against. Stood beside it and looked at Nezumi fully.

            “Saya really didn’t order you to do this? You really orchestrated a war all on your own?” he asked, and Nezumi glanced at him.

            “Don’t look so surprised. I was never the good guy you wanted me to be.”

            Shion ignored the tightening of his chest, the chill flickering over his skin. “You have to stop it.”

            “Too late. And I don’t feel like it.”

            “It’s not too late, the attacks aren’t scheduled until midnight.”

            “Your military is already in position.”

            “Nezumi! The Resistance Force doesn’t stand a chance against our military!” Shion shouted, and Nezumi stopped leaning against the door.

            “Don’t shout, you’ll get yourself caught. And yeah, Your Majesty, that’s the idea. I don’t want them to stand a chance.”

            Shion shook his head. His heart beat too loudly. Hundreds of people were going to die, and it was going to be Nezumi’s fault, and that wasn’t right, that couldn’t be possible.

            Shion had kissed this man. He had wanted to, dream or not he’d been eager for it, his heart had been in his lips. Shion still thought about kissing him. He needed Nezumi to be more than a murderer, more than the cold, heartless man that border area residents were made out to be. He needed Nezumi to be the man he was when Shion spent two weeks at his house, making a plan to free the hostages, living with each other, breathing beside each other.

            He needed Nezumi to be the man he’d slept beside on their last night before the break in. Nezumi had thrashed in his sleep as he always had. He’d kicked Shion, nearly hit him, but Shion had held Nezumi’s shaking hands between their bodies, talked quietly to Nezumi to reassure him, watched as Nezumi’s unconscious murmured protests calmed into quiet stillness.

            Shion had reached out then and held his hand over Nezumi’s heart, felt it race against his palm. It had been some odd hour in the morning, and Shion had known he’d have to get up in a few short hours and break into the Resistance Force compound, but he hadn’t wanted to fall back asleep.

            He’d wanted to hold Nezumi’s frantic heart in his palm until the wild beat of it branded his skin.

            “I can’t let you do this,” Shion insisted, now, his own heart frantic, wild, racing.

            “I already did. And it has nothing to do with you. Why are you here again?”

            Shion’s hands were in fists. His fingernails dug into his skin. “I’ll make you stop the war,” he said. His voice didn’t shake, and he was proud for it.

            Nezumi raised an eyebrow. “And how will you carry out such a bold claim? You shouldn’t be making promises you can’t keep.”

            “I’ll make you give up the government officials. And give up the new whereabouts of where the hostages are being kept since they were moved from the old compound. I know you know where they are. Saya told you everything.”

            Nezumi folded his arms over his chest. At the very least, Shion had distracted him from trying to get him out of the building. “Believe it or not, Saya was no longer my biggest fan after our whole stunt at the compound. And I told you, the government officials are dead.”

            “They’re not dead!” Shion shouted, and Nezumi stepped towards him.

            “Don’t yell.”

            “They’re not dead.”

            Nezumi narrowed his eyes. “Your denial is getting tiring.”

            “I know you didn’t kill them,” Shion argued, his voice rising again. He didn’t care if he was found. He didn’t care about sneaking out.

            He’d come here for Nezumi, and he wasn’t leaving until Nezumi stopped this, stopped this act he was trying to pull because it wasn’t him, Shion knew Nezumi and this wasn’t him.

            “You’re not a murderer,” Shion insisted, shouting again, and Nezumi held up his hands.

            “Lower your voice, Your Majesty, I’m serious,” he was saying warily.

            Shion couldn’t reply, as there were loud voices suddenly in the stairwell. He looked around, but when Nezumi grabbed his walkie talkie and put it to his ear, Shion realized that was where the voices were coming from.

            _“Daichi?”_

_“I really think he’s out. He’s still breathing though.”_

_“Daichi!”_

_“Stop shouting at him, Tadashi, he’s unconscious.”_

_“We have to find the infiltrator’s accomplice. If he escaped it’s likely the border area infiltrator was the one to free him. Get this place on lockdown. No one leaves.”_

_“Got it.”_

            “Shit,” Nezumi snapped, reaching out and grabbing Shion’s wrist. “We have to get you out now, if you’re locked in here and the Resistance Force attacks – ”

            Shion tried to pull away. He didn’t ask, this time, why Nezumi was trying to save his life over anyone else’s.

            He already knew why.

            Nezumi opened the door to lead them out the stairwell without listening against it this time. Shion kicked it shut before Nezumi could pull them through and threw himself at Nezumi, falling on top of the man on the landing.

            “Ah, fuck, what the hell are you – ”

            Nezumi’s grip had loosened from Shion’s wrist while they fell, and Shion reached around Nezumi’s body and grabbed the gun tucked in the back of his jeans.

            He got off Nezumi quickly and backed away from him, holding the gun out in front of him. It looked and felt just like the real gun Nezumi had insisted he take into the compound when they broke in to free the Gold District hostages, but Shion had seen Nezumi use it on Diachi, knew it was just full of sedative darts.

            He looked down at Nezumi, who was still on the ground but half sitting up now, and pointed the gun at him.

*

“That’s a real gun,” Nezumi said, the moment Shion pointed it at him.

            He knew Shion thought it was the gun he’d used to sedate that officer, but that gun was still in the holster around his ankle.

            He didn’t need Shion shooting him with a real gun on accident, which he wouldn’t put past the guy. Shion was known to be reckless.

            “No, it’s not.”

            “Shoot up the stairs and see for yourself,” Nezumi replied.

            “I saw you sedate Daichi.”

            “I have a sedative gun, but that’s not the one you quite rudely stole from me. Can I show you?”

            Shion narrowed his eyes. “No. I don’t trust you. Don’t move.”

            Nezumi ground his teeth. “This isn’t the time to be stubborn and refuse to listen to reason. If you kill me on accident you’ll never forgive yourself.”

            From the walkie talkie that now lay on the floor a few feet from Nezumi, there were more jumbled shouts. Too many people were talking at once for Nezumi to make anything out.

            “If you kill everyone in the Resistance Force, you’ll never forgive yourself either.”

            “Sure, I will. I’m not like you,” Nezumi said, keeping his voice even. Shion wouldn’t shoot him. He had to realize that was a real gun. He’d held a real gun in his hand before. He knew what it felt like.

            “Is this really a real gun?” Shion asked. He turned the barrel towards himself. Looked down into it.

            “Don’t do that!” Nezumi snapped, and Shion’s eyes widened as he turned the gun back to Nezumi.

            Nezumi realized he should have gotten up while he’d had the chance. Pulled out his actual sedative gun and shot the idiot in front of him. Shion was much less annoying when unconscious. Nezumi cursed himself under his breath.

            “It is real,” Shion was saying quietly.

            “No kidding. Give it to me before you hurt yourself. Or worse, before you hurt me.”

            Shion was looking at Nezumi as if he was deciding something. There was a crease between his eyebrows. He bit his lip, then released it.

            “Did you really kill the government officials?” he finally asked.

            Nezumi tried not to roll his eyes. He started getting up.

            “Don’t stand up until I tell you to!” Shion shouted.

            “Seriously, stop shouting,” Nezumi advised. “And I know you’re not going to shoot me.”

            “Tell me the truth! Did you kill them, Nezumi? The three government officials, are they dead?”

            Nezumi could see the white of Shion’s knuckles around the gun. His finger was on the trigger, which wasn’t altogether comforting.

            “Your Majesty. Take your finger off the trigger. If you accidentally shoot me – ”

            “It won’t be an accident. Tell me the truth, Nezumi.”

            Nezumi sighed. “Let’s not do this again. Remember the shard of that plate you had against my neck? Remember how that ended?”

            Shion shook his head. The gun trembled in his hand, then was steady again. Nezumi tried to see if the safety was on, but couldn’t at his angle.

            “It’s different now. You’re different,” Shion said.

            “I’m not different. I was always like this.”

            “You weren’t!” Shion shouted.

            Nezumi felt a flash of heat whip through him. He hated Shion for being here. For trying to ruin the plan he had no part in. For putting his life in danger. For making Nezumi give a shit about his life when Nezumi was supposed to only care about his own, how dare Shion change that, how dare this asshole change everything. “Why are you taking this personally? What the hell does it matter to you who I am? So what if I killed them, Shion? We’re not friends, we’re not anything. What does my life have to do with you? Why did you come here?”

            “Why did you leave me a note not to?” Shion demanded back, and Nezumi had no retort for this.

            He’d wanted Shion to be safe. He didn’t care if the Gold District military massacred the entire border area. He didn’t care if the Resistance Force somehow found a way to retaliate.

            He wanted Shion away from it all – the violence that surrounded Nezumi. That followed him. That he created.

            “Are the government officials dead?” Shion asked again, this time quietly, and Nezumi felt his shoulders fall.

            “No,” Nezumi admitted, hearing the hollow of his own voice.

            Shion watched him carefully. Nezumi didn’t know if Shion believed him. He didn’t know why it mattered.

            “Where are they?” Shion asked.

            “In the boiler room.”

            “Here?”

            “The floor under this one.”

            “Take me to them.”

            Nezumi sat up. “No. You’re getting out before they lock the building.”

            “It’s probably already locked.”

            “I don’t care. You’re getting out.”

            “I don’t need you to protect me. I need you to stop this war. I’m the one with the gun, so I get to decide what you do.”

            “Actually, you don’t.” Nezumi stood up. “You’re not going to shoot me.”

            “Yes, I am,” Shion said. His voice was hard, but Nezumi knew him.

            They weren’t friends, and they weren’t anything, but Nezumi still knew him.

            Nezumi stooped down. Lifted the leg of his jeans and slipped his sedative gun from its holster. Held it and heard the click of the safety being flicked on the gun Shion held.

            Nezumi glanced at him.

            “Drop your gun,” Shion said. His red eyes were wide and serious.

            “You drop yours,” Nezumi replied easily, and as he raised the sedative gun, his arm seared.

            Nezumi shouted, the sedative gun falling from his hand. He heard the gunshot only as an echo, the aftermath of it loud and ringing throughout the stairwell.

            Nezumi stared down at his arm. Blood fell out from the gash on the side of it, just above his elbow. He’d been grazed by the bullet, but deeply, a thick well of skin gouged from his arm.

            “Are you fucking kidding me?” Nezumi shouted. He turned to Shion, who was staring at Nezumi’s arm as well, his lips parted.

            He kept staring, and then he slowly looked at Nezumi’s face. “Take me to the government officials you took captive,” he said, his voice a whisper. His face was pale, and even the scar on his cheek looked faded, like a stain of blood that was centuries old.

            Nezumi looked back at his arm. The pain was sharp and pulsing simultaneously.

            “You should staunch that,” Shion was saying, still a whisper, and Nezumi looked up at the cardigan he was offered.

            Nezumi took it. Tied the sleeve around his arm, gripping the fabric in one hand and his teeth.

            “You shot me,” Nezumi said, when he’d finished tying it. It was tied too loosely, but he couldn’t get it tighter.

            “I had to,” Shion whispered. His eyes were incredibly wide, kept slipping from Nezumi’s face to fall onto his arm.

            “You’ve never shot anything in your life! You could have missed! You could have shot me in my fucking heart, you idiot, what is wrong with you?” Nezumi shouted.

            “We have to go. Someone must have heard the gunshot and will be after us. It’s downstairs, right? You lead, hurry,” Shion said, flicking the gun in a beckoning motion, and Nezumi wanted to tell the guy to fuck himself, but he also wanted to avoid getting shot by this lunatic again.       

            While he descended the stairs, he felt the butt of his own gun pressing between his shoulder blades.

            “You really need to hurry,” Shion hissed.

            “Shooting me in the arm doesn’t guarantee anything, just so you know,” Nezumi hissed back. “I could bleed out and die. You’d still have killed me then.”

            “You’re not going to die.”

            “You’re fucking insane.”

            “You’ve survived worse, remember? You survive everything,” Shion said, as they reached the bottom floor and Nezumi led them through the door to exit the stairwell.

            Nezumi glanced back at the guy, who was back to looking at Nezumi’s arm until Nezumi spoke, and his eyes slipped back up, red and wide and worry stamped too clearly across them despite whatever tough-guy act he was trying to put up.

            “I don’t know if I’ll survive you,” Nezumi said, though he’d meant to only think the words, heard them leave his lips and blamed it on some sort of deliriousness that being shot in the fucking arm had given him.

            Nezumi led Shion through the basement to the boiler room and kicked the door open, revealing two women and a man half-lying on the floor, half-propped up against the wall.

            Shion ran to them, and Nezumi watched him check each of their pulses. Nezumi realized he’d left the sedative gun on the floor of the stairwell. He exhaled hard and stared up at the ceiling and tried not to think about the pain shooting up his arm.

            “Let me retie that.”

            Nezumi nearly jumped at Shion’s soft voice. He looked down to see that Shion was standing right in front of him. The gun was no longer in his hands, and Nezumi couldn’t see where it is, and he got distracted from looking when Shion was touching him, fingers grazing his skin as he untied his own cardigan from Nezumi’s arm.

            “It’s deep,” Shion said, a crease between his eyes.

            “I’m aware, Your Majesty,” Nezumi said stiffly.

            “Sorry,” Shion mumbled. “I only meant to lightly graze you. To scare you and show you I was serious.”

            “Are you seriously apologizing for shooting me? What am I supposed to do with an apology?” Nezumi demanded.

            Shion’s fingers stopped momentarily, and he was looking up at Nezumi, who didn’t want to look back but couldn’t help it, those eyes were so insistent and focused on his own.

            If Nezumi leaned down, he could kiss the man again. Had done so before. Had thought about it frequently since, despite the lack of time he’d had to think about anything but starting a war and wiping out the Resistance Force.

            “You’re not going to die, Nezumi.”

            Nezumi stared back. Tried not to lean down. Tried not to kiss this man. Reminded himself that Shion had just shot him. Reminded himself that Shion didn’t want to be kissed by him. Reminded himself that Shion despised him because he had designed a war so that he could kill hundreds of people.

            Nezumi reminded himself that he was a rat from the border area and had never been anything better, and Shion was a Golden District citizen who only knew better. Reminded himself that Shion had only kissed him before because he’d thought Nezumi was some better version of himself, but he’d been wrong, and Nezumi wasn’t, and now they both knew it.

            “If we show your government that their officials are unharmed, that doesn’t mean they’ll call off their military. Even if I tell them where the other hostages are being kept, the Resistance Force has still terrorized your district. I’ve still kidnapped people and we’ve held them hostage for months. A war has been due. I only accelerated it,” Nezumi said, stepping back from Shion and looking away from him, at the government officials he’d propped on the floor.

            The cardigan was tight, now, around his arm. He could feel the pressure of the wet cloth, a minute relief from the soreness.

            “Then we tell them that the Resistance Force has no means to defend itself. That their weapons aren’t built and their military isn’t trained. And we tell them that if they attack, it will be a massacre, and that there is another option. They can go in peacefully with their military and give the Resistance Force a chance to surrender. Saya is smart, she’ll give up when she sees she’s outnumbered and outmatched, and we’ll get back the hostages, and it will be over,” Shion said, as if it was simple, and it had been all along.

            The Gold District had only ever needed to storm the Resistance Force. To threaten them. The Resistance Force never stood a chance. It was only the Gold District’s inaction that let Saya get away with her entire ploy for this long, just as it had been the Gold District’s inaction that led to Saya forming a Resistance Force in the first place.

            The Gold District preferred to keep its hands clean. Didn’t want to hold a gun, didn’t want to use it even just as a threat, not until now when it went too far and overcompensated, brought out an entire military and planned a mass murder.

            “Not everyone acts the way you want them to, Your Majesty,” Nezumi reminded, and Shion’s smile was light, barely there, unexpected and familiar in a way that tightened Nezumi’s chest until it was hard to breathe.

            He blamed the wound on his arm. Blamed the constriction of Shion’s cardigan sleeve around his wound, as if the feeling of its obstruction could slip straight to his chest.

            “We should hurry. It will take time to convince them even after they see the officials are only unconscious, and then they’ve still got to get the message out to the military before they strike,” Shion was saying, nodding at the door, and Nezumi didn’t argue, led them out of the boiler room, led them back to the stairwell.

            It was only as they climbed the stairs that Shion paused, and Nezumi stopped when he realized, a few steps above Shion, looking down as Shion looked up at him.

            “What will happen to you?” he asked, as if it was even a question.

            Nezumi gave himself a second to look at Shion. The white of his hair. The slight part of his lips. There was blood on his shirt, and Nezumi thought it must be his own blood, wondered what Shion would do to this shirt that was stained with him, if he would try to clean it or just throw it out, buy a new one, he certainly could afford it.

            “I’ll be just fine, Your Majesty,” Nezumi lied.

            He could kick Shion down the stairs. Run up while Shion was recovering, get back his sedative gun from where it lay on the landing above them, return and shoot Shion with it and drag him to the boiler room and lock him up with the other captives until the war was over and the Resistance Force was dead and Nezumi was a free man again, even if he was a murderer on top of that.

            Nezumi saw the entire plot in his head. Knew every step he’d take. It would be easy. He knew where the real gun was, saw it as he’d led Shion out the boiler room. It was tucked in the back of Shion’s waistband, but Shion would be too slow to reach for it, and even if he did, he’d be too scared to shoot Nezumi again. His face was still pale, his eyes still wide from after he’d shot Nezumi the first time. He didn’t have it in him to try it again.

            Nezumi turned away from Shion. Kept walking up the stairs, leading them back to the main floor where his sedative gun was on the ground. He left it and watched Shion pick it up. He opened the door to lead them out the stairwell and find the nearest government official so they could stop the war that Nezumi had intended to start.

            Nezumi knew he could easily subdue Shion even now, when Shion had both guns, simply because Shion was trusting and unaware. Nezumi knew the night could still go as he’d waited months for, but Nezumi didn’t act on his knowledge.

            He didn’t wonder why he was giving up. He didn’t need to wonder. He knew the reason for it, and then the reason for it was touching his arm, and Nezumi looked at Shion only to see his profile.

            “There’s someone over there,” Shion was saying, and Nezumi nodded even though Shion wasn’t looking at him.

            Nezumi wasn’t disappointed or angry or frustrated or confused that his plan had been ruined, that his chance for freedom was gone. Nezumi wasn’t even thinking about his ruined plan, or the bleak prospects of whatever fate would result for him after he turned himself in to the Gold District government.

            Nezumi was looking at Shion’s profile and thinking about the kiss this man had pulled him into not even twenty-four hours before; he was thinking that for as much as Shion had destroyed his life and everything Nezumi had worked for, he had given Nezumi one perfect moment of time when Nezumi couldn’t remember the last one he’d ever had, or if he’d ever had one at all.  

*


	9. Chapter 9

There were no prisons in the Gold District. Anyone who stepped too far out of line to be forgiven was banished to the border areas.

            The problem with banishing Nezumi to the border areas was the undeniable fact that he’d slipped into the Gold District uncaught countless times before while the district had been on high security alert.

            No one knew what to do with him, and as a temporary solution, he was kept at the military base under twenty-four-hour surveillance by an armed military officer. He was labeled both a weapon and a terrorist threat and not given visitation rights.

            Shion knew the latter because he’d attempted to visit Nezumi and was denied access due to Nezumi’s “unpredictable capacity for extreme danger.”

            Shion did not receive any punishment. He was praised for ending the intended war between the Gold District and the border areas. He was praised for playing an integral part in the retrieval of the hostages, who finally came home, some after several months of imprisonment by the Resistance Force.

            No one on the Resistance Force was harmed. They surrendered instantly and amicably. Shion watched the footage of Saya raising her arms up in the air in defeat as the Gold District military stormed their headquarters. The footage had originally been televised Live, but during the broadcast, Shion had still been at the Golden Tower with Nezumi, arguing with government officials who’d deliberated having Nezumi executed.

            In the end, of course, Shion had convinced them not to. The Gold District, he reminded, was not a place of murder.

            Safu had taped the Live footage, and Shion had watched it the next afternoon at her house, after he’d returned and slept a full twelve hours.

            It was a week after the almost-war that Shion started writing letters to Nezumi. He did not send these letters. In them, he wrote of nothing important, mostly just his daily life – how the hostage who used to come to his mother’s bakery was returning again with her thin frame slowly filling back out on her daily order of cinnamon buns and blueberry scones; how he was considering terminating his lease since he was still at Safu’s place and hardly ever went to his own apartment; how he was getting tired of his work at the lab where he was a chemist and was considering becoming a professor or taking night classes for a different degree entirely; how he was even considering the medical field, which he’d always had some fascination in despite never having truly studied in it depth.

            Shion had written twelve of these letters – one daily – to Nezumi when Safu found them in the drawer of the nightstand on Shion’s side of the bed. She came into the living room where Shion was reviewing notes from the lab, a documentary on humpback whales playing in the background and distracting him too frequently.

            “I should just turn off the television,” Shion said, when Safu walked in. “What is that?”

            Safu held the letters out. Shion knew they were the letters the moment he saw them in her hand. He tried to think of some excuse for them.

            “I read two of them,” Safu admitted, coming to sit on the couch beside him.

            Shion put down his lab notes. “That’s okay.”

            “They’re not really letters if you don’t send them. With the content especially, they’re really just diary entries but for Nezumi’s name at the top and your signage at the bottom. Why do you sign off as _Your Majesty_?”

            Shion felt his face heat up and grabbed the letters from Safu’s hand, folding them in half and then in half again. “Why were you going through my nightstand drawer?”

            “I was looking for my spare phone charger, the wire is getting frayed on the one I use. I only saw the letters on accident, and I couldn’t help looking at them. I find your obsession with Nezumi incredibly fascinating,” Safu said, pulling her legs up onto the couch and folding them beneath her as she pivoted to face Shion.

            Shion folded the letters again, pressing his fingers against the thick crease of it to make a sharper line. “It’s not an obsession.”

            “Are you embarrassed?”

            “It’s not embarrassing because it’s not an obsession,” Shion argued, hearing his voice rise.

            Safu bit down on her smile. Shion tried to glare at her.

            “You should send them. The letters.”

            “I thought you hated Nezumi.”

            “I don’t hate Nezumi. Not that I don’t have a good reason to. He did kidnap me,” Safu said, raising an eyebrow.

            Shion bit on the inside of his cheek. Released it. “I don’t have an address.”

            “You’re a district hero now after making Nezumi stop the war and helping the government get back the hostages. I’m sure you could make a few calls and find out,” Safu said, like it was simple.

            “He wouldn’t want to hear from me anyway. I got him locked up. I’m the reason he’s being watched by armed militia twenty-four-seven, I can’t even imagine what that’s like for him,” Shion said, feeling the tightening of his stomach that he’d been battling since Nezumi was taken prisoner, handcuffed in front of him, and taken by the military that had just gotten back from rescuing the hostages from the border areas.

            Nezumi hadn’t even fought them. He’d been docile and silent. When Shion tried to meet his eye, his bangs had fallen over them, and Shion couldn’t see his expression at all.

            “You’re the reason? So it was you who made Nezumi join a crazy border area terrorist group and kidnap Gold District citizens for months and then attempt to incite a massacre on his own people?”

            Shion looked at his friend. She hadn’t questioned the fact that he still slept at her house even though there was no reason to, the kidnappings were over, the threat was located, contained, muzzled.

            “You’re right. He did all of that. So why should I send him letters? I shouldn’t even be writing them. There must be something wrong with me. Is there? I can’t stop thinking about him, I don’t know what to do, there must be something I can do,” he insisted, leaning towards his friend.

            Safu was smart, Safu knew all sorts of things, maybe she knew how to stop this, everything he was feeling that he had no reason to feel, no right to feel, it was insane to feel any of it – whatever it was, he didn’t even want to try and name it.

            “I don’t know if you can do anything about it, Shion,” Safu said, reaching out and squeezing Shion’s knee before she got up from the couch. “I’m making tea. Want some?”

            “Okay, thanks,” Shion said weakly.

            From the television came mournful cries, the humpback whales singing in beautiful moans. Shion turned to watch the monstrous animals swim across the screen, wondering what the agonized songs they bellowed through the ocean signified, wishing he could understand.

*

Nezumi received the first letter from Shion a month after he’d been sentenced to detainment and around-the-clock babysitting from the Gold District military.

            While he was imprisoned, he had a “community service” gig, which entailed working with the military technicians who’d discovered his knack for mechanics. He was trying to salvage information from a hard drive that’d suffered a coffee spill when he was handed an envelope with his name.

            Nezumi had never received mail in his life. He opened it carefully. The militia uncuffed him when he worked with the technicians, but usually, even when he slept, his wrists were cuffed in front of him. His ankles were chained at all times, and he was never without a babysitter holding a gun at the ready.

            Nezumi found the excess security a bit superfluous. It was also effective. He hadn’t figured out a way of escaping, but he wasn’t actively trying.

            He was tired. In his imprisonment, he was given food and shelter. He had no freedom or privacy, but such luxuries had been rare in the border areas as well.

            Mostly, Nezumi missed his books. The military refused to supply him with any on his constant requests.

            Nezumi unfolded the letter. It was an instinct to read it quickly, to devour it, his first reading material outside of instruction manuals for broken technical equipment that he’d had access to in a month, but he forced himself to go slowly. Decided as he unfolded it that whatever it was, he’d read only a sentence today.

            _Nezumi._

_I’ve learned through sources that you are being detained in the Gold District military as a high-risk prisoner. I can’t say I’m not amused. You certainly had it coming, and I do hope the Gold District is not above torture and severe mistreatment as means of rehabilitation._

            Nezumi stopped reading. He’d read more than a sentence. He looked to the bottom of the letter, but he didn’t need to. The signature, as he’d known it would, read – _Yours, Saya._

            Nezumi refolded the letter without reading the rest of the contents. He didn’t have pockets, and bent to slip it into his sock when he was hit on the arm.

            Nezumi worked not to wince. It was the arm that Shion had shot. The wound was healing slowly. Nezumi hadn’t been given pain meds.

            “Give it to me,” said the babysitter on duty.

            Nezumi glanced at the man. “I haven’t finished it.”

            “I’ll take it until you’re ready to finish it,” the soldier said, and Nezumi straightened up, handed him the letter.

            “Don’t read it, it’s a private love letter. Very lewd. It might offend you,” Nezumi said, watching the soldier tuck the letter into his pocket.

            “I already read it,” the soldier replied, his hand falling back on his gun, finger on the trigger in the same position all of Nezumi’s babysitters retained while they watched him.

            Nezumi sighed and turned back to the damaged hard drive.

            He ignored the disappointment that squeezed his chest, as if it’d had a reason to be there in the first place. As if Shion would write him a letter. As if he’d had any right to hope.

*

Shion leaned down so that his face was an inch from the cake he was icing. He was trying to make a vine of roses around the side of it.

            He leaned away. The roses didn’t look like roses. Shion tilted his head and squinted. They looked even less like roses when he did so. He sighed and dropped the icing bag on the counter beside the unsuccessful cake.

            “How’s it going, honey?”

            Shion frowned at his mother, who entered the kitchen and came to stand beside him.

            “I thought you were going to try roses,” she said.

            “They are roses.”

            “Oh. I see.”

            Shion groaned and received a one-arm hug from his mother.

            “Don’t worry, it just takes practice. That’s why I’m letting you decorate Ms. Cho’s cake. I’m sure she’ll find your roses quite satisfactory.”

             “Will she?” Shion asked, looking up at his mother.

            Karan squeezed him. “Well, she’s blind, so yes, I think so.”

            Shion laughed wanly while his mother let go of him and held out an envelope.

            “It came for you in the mail.”

            Shion took the envelope. The return address was stamped. It was the military base. Shion looked at his mother, who just raised her eyebrows and took another look at the cake.

            “Ms. Cho should be here in ten minutes. Just bring it out to the front then,” she said, and then she left the kitchen again, and Shion was left alone with the envelope.

            Nezumi had been kept at the military base for six weeks now. Shion had begun to question if the government was even looking for somewhere else to put him or if they’d given up and decided he was the military’s responsibility now.

            Shion tore open the envelope carefully. Pulled out the letter, unfolded it, tried to read it quickly but couldn’t, was forced to take his time because the handwriting was terrible, and Shion had to linger on each word.

            _Your Majesty,_

_Saya wrote me to inform me that she had disbanded the Resistance Force. Her intentions in this letter were to blame me for eradicating the hope of border area residents, but I didn’t take it personally._

_It wasn’t me who did it. Thought you’d want to know that things do turn out the way you want them to in the end after all. And I don’t mean that in the spiteful way Saya did. You should be proud of yourself._

_You better not be blaming yourself for my current predicament – you do know that’s my own fault and has nothing to do with you, right? You always did think the world revolved around you, it’s an embarrassing trait of yours. You didn’t get me imprisoned. Got it?_

_No need to write back. Hope you’re minding your own business and not plotting any unnecessary and reckless save-the-world rescue missions of kittens in trees or crying babies or other pathetic sorts that have no reason to be your concern and nothing to do with you._

            _-N_

            Shion read through the letter three times despite the time it took to do so, though by the third time, it was much easier to decipher.

            He would have read it a fourth, but he remembered Ms. Cho and her cake. He folded the letter on its existing creases, slid it back in its envelope, folded the envelope in half, and tucked it into his pocket before boxing Ms. Cho’s cake and bringing it out to the front of the bakery.

            Shion still dreamed of Nezumi. Sometimes he had nightmares, but sometimes they weren’t bad at all.

            Sometimes Nezumi didn’t get shot. He didn’t die. Sometimes he stayed alive, and sometimes he kissed Shion, and sometimes Shion kissed back.

            Shion woke wet with sweat from both nightmares and dreams. He tried to leaf through his subconscious for answers. Understanding. Where this lust was coming from, if there was anything else behind it, why there would be in the first place when he knew nothing of Nezumi and what he did know was not recommendable in a romantic partner.

            Shion never came up with an answer. The night after he received the letter, he dreamt about Nezumi and felt only disappointed, upon waking, that he hadn’t set his alarm a few minutes later.

*

_Nezumi,_

_I’ve written more letters than I’d like to admit to you without sending them. This one, I’ve promised myself, I’m going to send, but I should have waited until after I’d written it to promise myself that, because now I feel a bit paralyzed trying to write it._

_I hope you are well. I’m trying not to blame myself for your imprisonment upon your request and finding it difficult to do so. I keep wondering where you’d be if Saya had never ordered you to keep me hostage all those months ago. I like to think that you’d have gotten out of the Resistance Force on your own. You never did agree with their tactics anyway. I know you hate when I speculate on your job options, but what about an actor? Do they have productions of any sort in the border area? I like to imagine you as an actor in some Shakespearean production. I like to imagine you free and doing something that makes you happy, rather than doing what other people make you do, rather than always locked up and always having to fight so hard._

_When I think of you reading this letter, I can see you getting angry. I’m sorry about that. I guess I always did make you angry, and I understand that. I have an optimism you could never afford, and now you’re detained by our military and I’m reminiscing about a life you didn’t have and might not even want._

_You can probably see, now, why I never sent you any of those other letters. Anyway, I hope this letter has at least been some sort of distraction to you. Do they give you books to read? There are so many books in the Gold District, I bet you can’t even imagine what the libraries here look like. It makes me smile to think of how you’d react, to walk into one of our libraries, especially those in the center district. I know you hate opulence and needless abundance, but I have a feeling books are your exception._

_I know you wrote me only to let me know about the Resistance Force and so that I wouldn’t feel guilty. But if you wanted to write me again about anything, about you, I wouldn’t mind that. You don’t have to though, of course._

_-Shion_

            Nezumi didn’t read the letter a sentence each day. He read it all at once, and when he finished, he read it again before folding it.

            “You can’t keep it,” the soldier babysitting him said. It was the same soldier who’d delivered Saya’s letter a week before.

            “I hadn’t even entertained the notion of such a privilege,” Nezumi replied, handing over the letter.

            “You going to write him back?”

            Nezumi laid back in bed where he’d been taking his mid-afternoon nap. He rested his handcuffed hands over the flat of his stomach and stared at the ceiling.

            “Is it absolutely necessary that you read my mail?” Nezumi asked the ceiling quietly.

            “Recognize the guy’s name. He’s the one who had you give up the government officials and tell the whereabouts of the other hostages. He’s also your alleged lover. Guess it’s not so alleged, is it?”

            Nezumi chose not to reply. He closed his eyes. He wasn’t going to write back. He regretted writing the first letter. He didn’t know why he had. He’d been bored. If they’d given him a damn book to read, he wouldn’t have to worry about stupid things like writing letters he should never have been writing.

            “At first, it struck me as odd, but now that I’ve thought about it, I can see you as an actor. You got that pretty boy thing down pat,” the soldier was continuing.

            “I preferred when you just shut the fuck up,” Nezumi snapped.

            The soldier clicked his tongue. Nezumi closed his eyes tighter. “Mind your language, prisoner.”

            Nezumi tried to fall asleep. Sometimes, he thought he had good dreams alongside the usual nightmares, but he could never remember the good ones upon waking.

            The nightmares overshadowed everything.

*

Shion was writing a letter in the kitchen when Safu came home from her psychiatry practice with plastic bags to signal she’d stopped for groceries after work.

            “Got that long flat pasta, we can make lasagna now!” she said in greeting, throwing the grocery bags on the counter.

            “How was work?”

            “Are you writing another letter?”  Safu asked, peering over Shion’s shoulder after she’d come to stand beside him.

            Shion shielded it with his arm. “It’s just a habit.”

            “How many have you sent him now with no response? Seven?”

            “So you’d rather I went back to writing letters and not sending them?” Shion asked, turning his letter over before picking up the closest grocery bag and going to the cupboard to unload its contents.

            “I’d rather you stopped writing letters altogether.”

            “I thought you found it all so fascinating,” Shion said to the can of tuna he placed on a shelf, refusing to use Safu’s term – _obsession_.

            “I’m worried for you. Maybe you should try dating,” Safu said, and Shion turned so abruptly he nearly dropped the can of peas he’d just fished from the bag.

            “Dating?” he echoed.

            Safu blinked. “Not Nezumi, obviously. Someone else. I think it would help you move on.”

            “Move on?”

            “Stop repeating select words of what I’m telling you,” Safu said, frowning.

            “I don’t need to move on. There’s nothing to move on from. We never – Nezumi was never – I’m not moving on.”

            Safu waved her hand. “I know you never dated him or anything like that. But you liked him, right? Or something of the sort that you’re having an extreme difficulty defining, I understand that. Whatever it is, dating might be good for you. When’s the last time you went on a date? You’re twenty-five and not getting any younger.”

            Shion gaped at his friend. “When’s the last time you went on a date?” he demanded.

            “I’m not interested in dating,” Safu replied easily. “I have no desire to form a sexual or romantic relationship. You do.”

            “You don’t know that. I might not.”

            “I psychoanalyze people for a living, Shion. It’s really just embarrassing for you to lie to me,” Safu said, her smile gentle.

            “I’m not interested in dating anyone right now,” Shion replied shortly, turning away from Safu and placing the can of peas beside the can of tuna.

            He looked back into the grocery back, took out another can of peas, placed it beside the first.

            “Why not? Is it really more enjoyable to spend your afternoons writing letters to a man who won’t respond and then rereading the only letter he sent you, which I’m sure must be stale after a week of reading it?”

            Shion had emptied the grocery bag in his hand and went to the counter for another to unload. “Are you going to help me unpack these?” he asked, not looking at Safu.

            He heard Safu’s sigh as he opened the door of her fridge. “I don’t mean to be harsh. What if it was me in your place? What would you say to me?”

            Shion opened the vegetable drawer, but didn’t release the bag of tomatoes he held. “They’re just letters, Safu. It doesn’t mean anything. I’ll stop sending them soon.”

            “Okay, Shion.” Safu’s response was quiet behind him. Shion put away the tomatoes and shut the drawer of the fridge, but he didn’t close its doors yet, letting the cool that radiated from it coat his skin.

*

_Nezumi,_

_I’ve been thinking of leaving Safu’s place. I love her to death, of course, but space might be good for us. We’ve been fighting lately, and I never know what to do after I fight with Safu. It feels wrong, unsettling._

_Since I already terminated the lease on my old apartment, I’ve been looking for new ones. I’m torn between moving closer to the center district where I could go to the city every day and wanting to stay close to Safu and my mother’s bakery._

_I actually baked the perfect soufflé this morning, which may not sound amazing to you, but trust me, it is. I never had the patience for them before. I remember you saying that about me – that I’m reckless, that I don’t have patience. I’m trying to work on that._

_I just finished_ The Tempest, _which was a bit of a letdown after reading_ Hamlet _last week, but I still liked it. It’s interesting that Shakespeare writes to much of betrayal and revenge. It makes me wonder what his life was like. Do you think he felt the plights of his characters, or did he just make all of it up?_

_Either way, I’m glad you re-introduced me to his writings. Our lessons in school never gripped me the way your readings of the plays did back in your kitchen, when you would bring them all to life. I miss that. Your voice._

_I miss your kitchen too. I find myself looking for it, in the apartments I look at. A counter like yours, with that crack by the side that you would run your finger across – did you notice that? I always noticed. Cabinets like yours, with those terrible knobs I always ran into and bruised my legs on. A sink like yours, where just to turn it on made such a loud creaking noise that I would always wake when you got up in the middle of the night for a glass of water._

_I know I was a hostage there. But I was a housemate too, and that’s what I remember most, and that’s all that really seems to matter to me now. I don’t know how I can just eradicate the fact that I was your hostage, even if it was only for a few days. It doesn’t make sense to me, no matter how much I think about it, which is constantly. I can’t stop myself from thinking about you._

_You haven’t written back, and that’s fine. If you want me to stop sending these letters, that’s fine too. I understand. You can write me to tell me that, and I’ll stop._

_If you don’t tell me to stop, though, I won’t. I’ve been trying to stop on my own and don’t seem to be able to. I don’t know what it is, but I rarely know what anything is when it comes to you. Maybe if we’d had more time to know each other, I’d understand more._

_Or maybe you would always be a mystery._

_-S_

Nezumi couldn’t read the letter all at once. It was the tenth letter Shion had written him. He’d gotten used to Shion’s tales about the bakery, or the chemistry lab where he worked, or whatever he’d had for breakfast that day, or some other nonsense like that.

            This letter, he was not used to. He had to take breaks. The soldier watching him was the soldier who always delivered his letters, and Nezumi wished it was someone different.

            Someone who would give him a moment of privacy, like the soldier he sometimes had in the mornings. Not this soldier, who had a fucking comment for everything, who was incessant and annoying and whom Nezumi imagined punching to pass the time.

            “You done?” the soldier kept asking, while Nezumi took breaks from his letter to stare at the wall and breathe.

            He hated Shion for always saying everything he thought. He hated Shion for writing it down when Nezumi wasn’t there for him to say it to.

            “Can you give me a second?” Nezumi snapped, the fourth time the soldier asked for it.

            “You can’t keep the letter.”

            “I am well aware that I can’t keep the letter. Did I ask to keep the letter? Have I attempted to keep any of the letters? I’m still fucking reading it, I’ll give it to you when I’m done,” Nezumi said, fighting to keep his voice even.

            He sat on the edge of the cot where he slept. He was kept in one of the military barracks. There was nothing in it but his cot.

            “Don’t see why it’s taking so long. I can summarize it if you can’t read it quickly enough. Your lover misses you. He misses your voice, he misses your kitchen, he probably misses your sweet and slow fucking. He’s pining for you, and you’ve left him letter-less for over a week now. Poor guy, he seems nice too, a little corny maybe. You could at least send him a few words, tell the guy what you miss about him.”

            “Does it give you some power trip to read my stuff? Having me here in handcuffs and watching me while I sleep and taking me to the bathroom and serving me crap for food and babysitting me twenty-four-seven isn’t good enough?” Nezumi asked, still keeping his voice low.

            The soldier smirked. “It gets dull. Your lover’s letters help pass the hours. I’m hoping the guy spices it up a little, adds some of that naughtiness he’s holding out on you, nothing like good old fashioned mail-order erotica.”

            Nezumi clenched his jaw. Looked away from the soldier before he said something that made the guy stop delivering Shion’s letters altogether.

            He read the rest of the letter and was halfway through his reread when it was taken from his hands.

            “You fucking piece of – ” Nezumi hissed, standing, his wrists tugging at his handcuffs, but before he could do anything, before he could finish his sentence, there was a gun pressed to his chest.

            “I’m allowed to shoot you. I don’t even have to confirm,” the soldier said, his gaze set.

            Nezumi took a breath. His chest rose against the barrel of the gun. He sat back down on the edge of his bed and made himself stop tugging his wrists against the handcuffs.

            “That’s a good boy,” the soldier said. “Here, let’s compromise. I’ll read the letter to you, my favorite parts. How’s that sound?”

            Nezumi stared at the raw skin of his wrists and tried not to pay attention when the soldier began reading Shion’s words, turning them horrible, crude, wrong.

*

_Stop sending letters._

            There was not even a signature, but Shion knew who it was from the handwriting, from the return address on the envelope, from the fact that no one else sent him handwritten letters.

            Shion had only just walked through the front door, opening the letter the minute he closed the door behind him. He made it to Safu’s kitchen, forgetting to take off his shoes, and sat numbly, staring at the letter that was only three words.

            After two minutes, Shion folded the letter. Put it back in its envelope. Took it to the bedroom and slipped it inside the envelope of the first letter Nezumi had sent him, hoping Safu wouldn’t notice it if she went through his drawer again.

            He took out his phone and found Safu’s contact.

            _You can set me up on that blind date with your coworker you mentioned the other night._

            He exited out of the conversation, locked his phone, and placed it face down on his nightstand so he wouldn’t have to see her reply.

            It was time to move on, even though there had never been anything to move on from in the first place.

*

_Nezumi,_

_Act 1_

_Scene 1. A desert place._

_Thunder and lightning. Enter three Witches._

_First Witch_

_When shall we three meet again_

_In thunder, lightning, or in rain?_

_Second Witch_

_When the hurlyburly’s done,_

_When the battle’s lost and won._

_Third Witch_

_That will be ere the set of sun._

            Nezumi stopped reading. Flipped through the letter. This one was several pages. He skimmed different sections of each page, felt his lips turning up for the first time in the two months he’d been a Gold District prisoner.

            Shion had written out the entire first act of _Macbeth._

            Nezumi glanced up at the soldier, a different soldier than the one who’d previously delivered all of his letters.

            Nezumi hadn’t seen the usual letter-delivering soldier since his last letter from Shion, a full week before. He’d asked about the guy, and the soldier babysitting him that day had said he was on probation.

            Nezumi didn’t care what he was on probation for. He was just glad the asshole was gone.

            “Did you read this?” Nezumi asked the soldier who stood beside his door.

            She glanced at him, nodded. “Sorry, it’s policy. Can’t have you leading another revolution from in here. I can’t lie, I’m sort of looking forward to the next installment. My brother used to have an obsession with Shakespeare, and he always liked the violent ones best. _Macbeth_ has always had a special place in my heart because of him,” the soldier said, smiling.

            Nezumi looked away from her. Turned to the last page of the letter.

_Macbeth_

_I am settled, and bend up_

_Each corporal agent to this terrible feat._

_Away, and mock the time with fairest show:_

_False face must hide what the false heart doth know._

_Exeunt._

_I’ll send the second act the moment I’ve written it out. I know you didn’t want more letters, but sometimes I think you tend to perpetuate your own misery. I’m not saying I know what you want more than you do, but at the very least, let me offer you some literature._

_You can make requests, if you’d like. Any book at all. I’ll make sure I find it._

_-Your Majesty_

            Nezumi almost laughed. He exhaled into the smile that felt odd on his lips. He read Shion’s ending note once more, pausing at his signature, then turned back to the beginning, settled on his cot, and started to read.

*

Shion discovered he was not good at going on dates.

            He’d always enjoyed talking to strangers and getting to know new people, so he didn’t understand his trouble with dating.

            “It’s because you know it’s a date. The expectation of what a date means makes it hard to converse with your date like they’re just any other person,” Safu explained after Shion came home from an unsuccessful date one night.

            It was only half past eight. They hadn’t even had drinks after dinner, though Shion’s date had leaned in to kiss him before they’d parting ways.

            Safu was eating from a bowl of popcorn at the kitchen table and reading a book. It took Shion only a few seconds to realize the book she was reading was _Pride and Prejudice_ , the book Nezumi had requested right after Shion sent him the second act of _Macbeth_.

            Nezumi’s letter had been short, and read simply:

            _Your Majesty,_

 _If it’s not too long –_ Pride and Prejudice _by Jane Austen. I think you’d like it too._

_-N_

            Shion was still transcribing the first chapter, but he didn’t mind the length. Nezumi was right; after only seven pages, Shion loved it. He found the protagonist’s blunt and scathing honesty similar to Nezumi’s, and he planned on mentioning this to Nezumi in a note at the end of the letter.

            “Since when did you read period novels?” Safu asked, while Shion reached out for a handful of her popcorn, tired after rehashing his unsuccessful date.

            “Since when did you?” Shion countered.

            “Since one was sitting on my kitchen counter.”

            “My date kissed me,” Shion said, to revert the topic.

            Safu tilted her head. “I thought you didn’t hit it off.”

            “We didn’t.”

            “Well, I suppose emotional and intellectual attraction isn’t necessary for physical attraction. It might be good for you to sleep with someone.”

            Shion almost choked on a kernel of popcorn. “What is that supposed to mean?”

            “Maybe you’re sexually frustrated.”

            “I’m not,” Shion said flatly.

            “Sex is actually very healthy. It’s a great hormonal outlet, can ease pain, tension, and stress, and it qualifies as physical exercise to some degree, depending on the duration of and the effort exerted during the act.”

            “Safu, please concentrate on your own sex life and leave mine alone,” Shion said weakly.

            “I’m not currently interested in a sex life.”

            “You should still leave mine alone,” Shion muttered.

            Safu shrugged. “I’m still setting you up on another date. I have the perfect person.”

            “That’s what you said about the last three.”

            “This one is the most physically attractive. Trust me, you won’t be thinking of Nezumi on your next date,” Safu said, smiling slightly.

            Shion grabbed _Pride and Prejudice_ away from her and stood up from the counter. “I wasn’t thinking about him.”

            “Okay, Shion.”

            “I wasn’t!” Shion shouted, stalking out of the kitchen to lock himself in the bedroom and continue transcribing the novel.

            He had moved on from Nezumi. Writing out books was for his own pleasure, and he might as well send them to Nezumi, whom he knew wasn’t allowed access to books after he’d called the military to ask.

            He had moved on. And even if he hadn’t, there wasn’t anything to move on from in the first place, so he didn’t have to move on.

            Shion realized he was pressing his pen harder against the paper than necessary, and tried to relax. It was a long book, and he didn’t want his hand to cramp.

*

Nezumi was reading _Pride and Prejudice_ when there was a banging on his barrack door.

            The soldier on babysitting duty opened it. Nezumi didn’t pay much attention.

            He was on the last page of the letter – and the last page of the book. It had taken Shion two months to write out the entirety of it, but Nezumi didn’t mind. And while he loved getting to fall back into a novel, his favorite parts of the letters were the tiny paragraphs at the end that Shion would write before signing off.

            Nezumi didn’t care to listen while his current babysitting soldier conversed with the other soldier who’d come in through the door. He could tell they were changing shifts.

            He’d reached the end of _Pride and Prejudice_ , and then there was Shion’s personal note.

            _I can’t believe it’s finally finished! I’ve had_ Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland _on hold since your previous letter came, and hopefully the library will have it soon and I can start on it. I’ve been a little busier lately – Safu’s decided to fix my personal life, which is a much more time-consuming endeavor than I could have anticipated – so I’m sorry that the amount I can write has been getting shorter and the frequency of the letters scarcer. And I’ll be moving out from Safu’s house in two days, so the next letter might be even more delayed._

_Hope you’re doing well. It’s hard to think of you locked up somewhere being watched constantly. It makes me angry a lot of the time, and sad, too. I wish I could do something, but I guess that’s a useless thing to say (or write)._

_Don’t give up._

_-Your Majesty_

            Nezumi had to reread the last sentence three times to accept that he wasn’t reading it incorrectly. _Don’t give up._ He shaped the words silently against his own lips.

            He didn’t know what they meant. There was nothing to give up. He wasn’t trying to escape because it was an impossibility, short of murdering the babysitter on duty, but that was a feat seeing as all his babysitters were armed and he was constantly handcuffed.

            And he doubted Shion was trying to tell him to kill someone.

            Nezumi turned back to the beginning of the letter to begin his usual reread before he handed it to the soldier on duty, but he found himself distracted from the words, constantly flipping back to the last page, rereading the strange sentence.

            _Don’t give up._

            His heart beat harder than it had in months, and Nezumi pressed his hand to his chest, trying to understand.

*


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the delay with posting this chapter, i got another manuscript to edit with a tight deadline, and i just moved to a new apartment last night, so things have been busy - but they should slow down now and hopefully updates will be regular again! thanks for reading!

The same day Shion moved into his new apartment with the help of Safu and his mother, he had a date with a guy he’d previously gone out with twice.

            “You know what the third date means,” Safu had said before leaving his place that afternoon, her elbow nudging Shion’s side before he pushed her out the doorway of his apartment and shut the door on her, hearing her laugh and wish him good luck from the other side.

            Shion had not gone out multiple times with anyone else Safu had set him up with. The man he was going on a third date with had not been set up with him at all. He was a librarian. Shion had been badgering him for a copy of _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland_ , going to the library once a day to see if it had come in yet only to be told by the librarian that he would receive an email, there was no need to come in so much.

            “Unless you’re only here to see me,” the librarian had said, smiling, the fifth day in a row Shion came to ask about the book. He had a soft smile, and his cheeks had reddened at his own words.

            He was tall, like Nezumi, but when Shion made the comparison in his head he chastised himself for thinking about Nezumi at a time like this at all.

            The librarian had dark hair, too, but it was cut shorter; still long enough to run fingers through, Shion noted.

            He wore glasses that he frequently pushed up his nose. His fingernails were small and square and he had very gentle mannerisms that Shion associated with a library.

            He asked Shion out the day _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland_ came in, a piece of paper slipped into the book that Shion only saw later that day after he’d left the library and returned to Safu’s apartment, where all of his belongings were in boxes.

            _Since you won’t be coming in every day anymore for this book, I can’t help but need another excuse to see you. Let me buy you dinner tonight?_

            At the bottom was a number that Shion didn’t call for another two hours after pacing Safu’s living room while Safu bounced around excitedly.

            Shion did call him, and the next night they’d had dinner as well, and now it was the end of the third date, and Shion mentioned he’d just moved into a new apartment and it was his first night there, and the librarian pushed his glasses up his nose with a gentle gesture, and Shion asked if he wanted to help celebrate his move with a glass of wine.

            The librarian agreed. They went to Shion’s new apartment and maneuvered around the boxes and did not have a glass of wine but a bottle. The bed didn’t have a sheet on it yet, and they struggled with the fitted sheet together, laughing at their incompetency.

            Shion thought the librarian laughed easily. He smiled often, a full smile, not a smirk. He was joyful and carefree, and Shion squinted at him, trying to understand him, how a person could be so happy, how Shion had been that person once, how long ago it seemed.

            Shion liked the librarian’s happiness, but it bothered him too.

            It did not bother him enough, however, for him to say yes when the librarian asked, his hand rubbing the back of his neck and cheeks that shy pink again, _I guess it’s late. I can leave, if you’d like….?_

            Shion didn’t know what he wanted, what he would like. But he was drunk and Safu had said he was sexually frustrated and maybe that was the root of his problems, maybe that was why he was so confused, restless, felt like he was waiting for something when there was nothing to wait for, no one to wait for, nothing was going to change.

            _Stay,_ Shion said, and the librarian did not argue.

*

Nezumi had not gotten a letter in a week.

            Shion had said, in the last letter, that he was moving, and it would be delayed, so Nezumi was trying to be patient, put it out of his mind. He’d just come back from working with the technicians on a malfunctioning circuit board and was freshly handcuffed when there was a knock on the door.

            Nezumi was looking at his fingernails. He’d been imprisoned for four and a half months. His cuticles were a mess.

            “I’ll see you,” the soldier babysitting him said before she opened the door. “Oh, is your probation up?”

            Nezumi looked up from his cuticles.

            The soldier that had previously delivered his letters was walking into his barrack. He was holding an envelope in his hands. There was a cut underneath his left eye that looked halfway healed.

            “They can’t keep me away,” the soldier said, sneering at the soldier he was replacing, who gave Nezumi a sympathetic look before leaving the barrack and closing the door behind her.

            Nezumi said nothing. He wanted to demand his letter.

            “Did you miss me?” the soldier asked.

            “Too much for words,” Nezumi replied.

            The soldier laughed. He had a bark of a laugh that Nezumi had never heard before and didn’t particularly care to hear again.

            He seemed angry, but Nezumi could not pinpoint why. Maybe the set of his eyes. They were hard on Nezumi’s face.

            “Got a letter for you,” the soldier said.

            “I can see that.”

            “It’s a long one.”

            Nezumi wished he wasn’t handcuffed. The soldier took a step closer to him. Nezumi’s pulse was steady in his ears.

            He knew a threat when he saw one. He’d been in danger enough times to sense it on its way.

            “Want to know why I was gone for so long?” the soldier asked quietly. He took another step closer.

            Nezumi wished he wasn’t sitting on his cot. He wanted to be standing, but was wary of moving.

            “I don’t like guessing games,” Nezumi finally said.

            “I was on probation,” the soldier replied. In his hand not holding the letter, he held his gun. His finger on the trigger, but that was just protocol.

            Nezumi couldn’t knee him in the groin because his ankles were cuffed. He could hit the soldier with both hands, but his movements would be slow with the handcuffs on his wrists. He could stand and headbutt him. Break the soldier’s nose with his forehead. Grab the gun while the soldier was disoriented. Turn it on him. Leave the barrack. The soldier who’d babysat him previously shouldn’t have been able to get far. She would help him. She knew this soldier was bad news.

            “Want to know why I was on probation?” the soldier asked.

            “I doubt it has anything to do with me,” Nezumi said.

            The soldier tilted his head. “No, it doesn’t,” he agreed. “And yet, I can’t beat up my commanding officer. You’re just a prison rat. What good are you for if not to get a little frustration out? Everyone wants you dead. You’re only alive because the government is scared of getting its hands dirty.”

            Nezumi didn’t understand the soldier’s anger. “You’re not on probation anymore.”

            “No, I’m not. I’ve been discharged. I’m supposed to be meeting with my superior to hand in my weapons right now,” the soldier continued, and Nezumi froze.

            The soldier was a foot away from him. Hardly that.

            “One of my mates was going to deliver your letter, but I thought I’d offer to do the job. One last time. The envelope is thick. A lot of porn in here, I bet. Want to read it together?”

            “Not particularly,” Nezumi said slowly.

            He repeated his plan in his head. Stand. Headbutt. Grab gun. Leave barrack. Get help.

            “Neither do I,” the soldier said, throwing the envelope to the ground.

            Nezumi stood up just as the soldier hit him, the punch to Nezumi’s face only harder with Nezumi moving towards it.

            He fell back, his balance compromised by the cuffs on his ankles.

            He pushed himself off the cot again, and again was hit, his jaw searing as he fell sideways, but there was a hand around the collar of his shirt, hauling him back up so that he was standing.

            Nezumi shook his hair out of his eyes. Blood filled his mouth. He wanted to spit it at the soldier, who stood in front of him, holding his gun in both hands.

            Nezumi spit to the side, aiming for the floor rather than his mattress.

            “I always found fighting to be great for my anger. It’s why I joined the military,” the soldier said, almost happily, before raising his gun and whacking Nezumi across the face with it.

            Nezumi fell back again, and again was hauled up. He pushed the pain – sharp, electric – out of his mind. Spit more blood on the floor. Was hit again with the butt of the gun, felt a sharp stinging under his eye, cursed as he fell, was yanked up again and then he stepped forward, attempted to headbutt the soldier, but the soldier dodged him, and Nezumi pitched forward, his legs catching on the cuffs around his ankles.

            Something hard – Nezumi assumed the butt of the soldier’s gun – shoved into Nezumi’s back, and Nezumi fell on the floor, rolled over onto his back but was stopped from getting up when the soldier crouched over him, knees coming to rest on both sides of Nezumi’s waist.

            The soldier was grinning. Nezumi swallowed the blood in his mouth so he wouldn’t choke on it.

            “I hate messing up that pretty face. Such a waste, but I suppose you weren’t getting any action in here, were you? Bet you’re pretty horny,” the soldier said, while Nezumi breathed, braced himself to be hit again, rewrote his plan in his head to accommodate his new position.

            The soldier leaned forward. Nezumi’s cuffed hands were between their chests. The soldier’s face was soon an inch from his own.

            “Don’t worry,” the soldier whispered, his breaths hitting Nezumi’s lips. “I don’t swing that way.”

            Nezumi jerked both of his knees up at once, kneeing the soldier in the crotch. The soldier groaned, rolled off of Nezumi just as Nezumi grabbed the soldier’s gun, tugged it free from the soldier’s loosened grip.

            The soldier was cursing as Nezumi grappled with the gun, sitting up and trying to hold it with his hands in cuffs. It was not a pistol. It was a large gun, long and cumbersome, and Nezumi had never handled a gun like it before, had just gotten accustomed to the weight of it and had his finger on the trigger when he was tackled again.

            “You’ve done it now,” the soldier hissed, and his hands were around Nezumi’s neck, but Nezumi held the gun between their bodies, and the barrel of it touched the underside of the soldier’s chin. To pull the trigger would send a bullet right up through to the top of the soldier’s skull.

            The gun was wedged between them so that Nezumi could not move it. His finger was still on the trigger. The soldier’s hands tightened around Nezumi’s neck, and soon he couldn’t breathe at all.

            “Aren’t you going to kill me?” the soldier hissed. He was lying entirely on top of Nezumi. The butt of the gun dug into Nezumi’s stomach.

            Nezumi could no longer hear his own pulse in his ears. The pressure in his chest from not breathing was building. His finger flinched on the trigger.

            “Do it,” the soldier whispered. His eyes were flat. Nezumi couldn’t focus on them.

            There were spots in front of his own eyes. He tried to consider his options, to think of another plan, but it was impossible to think.

            “What, you never killed a man before? I doubt that. This should be easy for you. This should be nothing.”

            Nezumi could barely hear the soldier anymore.

            He had to kill him. He knew that. There wasn’t another option. There wasn’t any more time. He was a prisoner anyway. He had nothing to lose anyway.

            Nezumi tried to turn his head. He didn’t want to look at the soldier’s face when it went slack. He managed to turn a few inches, and there was something rising up his throat, and his eyes were watering, and his legs were convulsing, and it took everything he had not to pass out, but he only needed another second to pull the trigger, he only needed another moment to become a murderer so that he could survive.

            When he turned his head, he saw the envelope of Shion’s letter lying on the floor a few feet away.

            The last thing Nezumi did before he lost consciousness was take his finger off the trigger.

*

Shion had learned from Nezumi that he could be incredibly stubborn.

            He put this to use against his own government. He had been angry and frustrated for months, and he let it come out in his demands.

            Nezumi was not to return to the custody of the military. The details of his attack were not released, but Shion didn’t need them.

            The Gold District hated Nezumi. They wanted him dead, and now he was nearly there, almost killed in his own detainment by an unstable soldier who was meant to be discharged for unruly and violent behavior on three previous occasions against other soldiers.

            It was irresponsible. It was deplorable. It was unforgiveable, and Shion wasn’t going to forgive it.

            Even in the hospital, Nezumi was strapped to the bed. Shion was trying to figure out how to subtly loosen the straps in a way that would go unnoticed by the soldier who stood guard beside the door when Nezumi woke.

            It was not the first time Nezumi was waking. He’d been in the hospital for three days. It was the first time Shion had been allowed in his room, after three days of arguing that Nezumi was by no means a threat to anyone, seeing as he barely had the strength to eat a full meal.

            Shion didn’t realize Nezumi was awake until the man sat up, and Shion stared at him, surprised by his movements.

            He watched Nezumi watch him, and then Nezumi mouthed his name before his hand jerked up, then fell back to the bed, hindered by the straps.

            Nezumi shook his head and attempted to blow his hair out of his eyes, his bangs drifting up before falling back down in the same place.

            The soldier’s handprints made dark purple blotches around Nezumi’s neck.

            “Can you not speak?” Shion asked. “Is it your throat?”

            Nezumi nodded. Shion could see him swallow and wince as he did so.

            He reached onto the bedside table, picked up a cup of water, lifted it to Nezumi’s lips since the man couldn’t do so himself with his wrists in straps.

            “I keep trying to make them take off the straps,” Shion said, when Nezumi drank the full cup. “They’re being difficult. And it’s completely unnecessary that there’s an armed soldier guarding your door. What do they think you’re going to do?”

            Shion heard his voice rising. Fought to calm himself. His fingers shook when he thought of what had been done to Nezumi, and he slipped his hands between his thighs and the seat of the hard-backed chair he’d dragged closer to the bed from beside the wall.

            Nezumi only looked at him with flickering eyes, as if he was taking Shion in. Shion understood this. He’d examined Nezumi with just as much deliberation upon first seeing him again, but his own examination had been painful.

            Nezumi’s face was bruised and cut. It was not unrecognizable, but it might have been easier not to have to recognize it.

            Shion let Nezumi look at him for a minute, then leaned forward. “Why didn’t you shoot him? Nezumi, I know what I’ve said to you, I know that – ” Shion shook his head, made himself breathe, made himself steady. “It would have been self-defense. It wouldn’t have been murder. It would have been understood – expected, even. No one would have blamed you, he almost, you almost let him – ”

            Shion cut himself off. Stared up at the ceiling. He didn’t want to shout at Nezumi.

            The man looked too tired to be shouted at.

            When Shion spoke again, it was quietly and to his knees. “Is it because you’re from the border areas? Do you think you’re not allowed to defend yourself? Do you think no one would have seen it as self-defense because they expect you to be a murderer anyway?”

            Nezumi still said nothing. Shion didn’t know if he had a voice at all. His windpipe had nearly been crushed, and he’d needed to have surgery, but there would be no permanent damage.

            He was to be discharged that afternoon, but not to the military base, Shion had made sure of that.

            Shion looked back at him. Inspected the sharp eyes focused on his own face.

            “You’re supposed to fight for your own life. That’s what you told me. You deserve the same as I do. I told you that I thought you were better than a murderer, but it wouldn’t have been murder. I wasn’t talking about this, you have to know that, I never wanted this, if I thought you would have – ”

            “Your Majesty,” Nezumi interrupted, and his voice was so quiet it was hardly an interruption at all, but Shion heard him, saw his lips move, stopped himself.

            His eyes burned. His fingernails dug into the chair beneath his thighs.

            Nezumi, on the other hand, looked incredibly calm.

            “I’ve told you not to be so self-centered. It’s not your fault.”

            “It feels like my fault,” Shion admitted, a whisper. “It feels like everything in your life got so much more difficult since I became a part of it.”

            Nezumi’s smirk was different with his lip split and swollen at one side, but it was the same too; there was a familiarity in it that hurt. “My life was always difficult. It’s incredibly egotistic of you to try to take credit for that.”

            Shion wanted to smile. He didn’t know if he succeeded. “They’re not taking you back there. To the military base. Obviously, the soldier who attacked you was officially discharged, and he’s currently undergoing trial to be banished to the border areas, but the military was still responsible for your detainment on their base, and they failed to keep you safe.”

            Nezumi’s gaze left Shion’s face for the first time, drifting over Shion’s shoulder, and Shion didn’t have to look back to remember the soldier guarding the door.

            “Like I said, I tried to fight against the need for an armed guard while you’re in here, but they wouldn’t listen,” Shion said.

            “And after I’m discharged from the hospital, then what? I’m sent back to the border areas so the soldier you’re banishing can finish off the job?” Nezumi asked. He coughed. His voice was scratchy, and Shion poured him more water from the pitcher on the bedside table, helped him drink another full cup before replying.

            “You’re still technically a prisoner. Since we don’t have a prison, and the military base obviously is not going to work, we had to figure out a different housing arrangement,” Shion said, speaking more slowly now, almost hesitant. “You’d still going be under the twenty-four-seven watch of a member of the military, that was nonnegotiable. But you’re off the military base, and you’ll get to be among civilization. We just had to find a volunteer to take you in.”

            Nezumi’s eyes narrowed, but he still said nothing.

            Shion leaned forward, untucking his hands from beneath his thighs to curl them together in his lap. “I wanted to be the one to house you, but I was refused. The government said there’s…controversy in that,” Shion said, choosing his words carefully, “which I understand. While I’m not looked at with suspicion, there was a time when I was your alleged accomplice. And there’s all those rumors that we had some sort of romantic affair. It’s too much of a risk for them to let you live with me.”

            Nezumi lifted a hand, but again, it was pulled back to the bed by the strap. His eyes left Shion’s face to glare disdainfully down at it, and then his gaze returned to Shion.

            Shion guessed that Nezumi had wanted to push his bangs from where they fluttered in his eyes. Shion wanted to do it for him, and replaced his hands beneath his thighs to stop himself.

            “Do you remember Daichi?” he asked.

            “Who?”

            “The security officer who you shot with that sedative gun when you freed me at the Golden Tower all those months ago. Remember?” Shion asked.

            Nezumi squinted. “The guy who talked nonstop,” he finally said.

            “Yeah. He volunteered to house you, and he’s a security officer, so he was approved.”

            Nezumi opened his lips, then closed them.

            Shion bit his lip. “I went to his house to see it, it’s actually near my apartment since I moved closer to the district center. You’ll have your own bedroom. I know the idea is strange, and I was ideally pushing for you to have your own apartment, but there’s no money put aside to pay for that, our government doesn’t have a prison fund since we don’t have a prison. And the officials I was talking with don’t really care about your comfort or privacy, so it wasn’t a priority. Just to get you out of the military base was difficult enough, but I do think this will be better, and Daichi was pretty nice, at the very least he doesn’t have a power complex like some of the soldiers in the military, and he doesn’t seem to hate you, I mean, he volunteered even though that means a prisoner and the soldier watching you will be living in his house, and he asked me what foods you liked so he could buy them for the kitchen, and – ”

            “Shion.”

            Shion inhaled deeply, realizing he’d forgotten to breathe. “I know you don’t want to live in a stranger’s house. But you kidnapped people, they can’t just let you go, I tried to make them see that you’re so much more than the person they think you are, but – ”

            “Shion. Stop rambling. Why are you so nervous? I’ve never had anyone to fight for me, and here you are, constantly thinking you’re not doing enough when you’re under no obligation to do anything. It’s amazing, really, your capacity for misconception.”

            Shion caught his breath while Nezumi looked at him with a crease between his eyes.

            “No one has ever given a shit about me. And here you are, the guy I kept hostage, trying to make his government pay for me to live in a five-star hotel while I’m supposed to be a prisoner.”

            “I would never suggest a five-star hotel,” Shion argued, and Nezumi laughed.

            The sound was dry and tight, but it was still Nezumi’s laugh.

            “And I wasn’t just your hostage. We were housemates,” Shion added. _We were more than that_ , he wanted to say, but he didn’t because it wasn’t true, they were never more even though it felt like it, Shion didn’t know why it felt like it, he didn’t know how to reason with the way he felt.

            Nezumi looked at him for so long Shion thought he wouldn’t reply, but then he did. “Yeah. I know,” he said quietly.

            “I wanted them to let you have work release so you could make some money, but there’s not many people who’d hire you. I was thinking…” Shion trailed off. He had a feeling Nezumi would not like the idea that he’d had.

            “You were thinking?”

            “Since I moved farther away, I can’t stop by after work as easily to help my mother in the bakery, and Safu’s been getting more patients at her practice, so she can’t be there as much either, so I was thinking – as long as you stayed in the kitchen, of course, you can’t have interaction with the customers, and your military supervisor will be there with you at all times, and you can’t use public transport either, but the soldier can drive you – ”

            “Your mother’s bakery,” Nezumi interrupted. “You’re suggesting I work at your mother’s bakery.”

            “You might like it. You like to cook,” Shion reminded.

            “You really want to burden your own mother with me? And some soldier with a gun in her kitchen?”

            “It wouldn’t be a burden. She needs help.”

            “Have you asked her?”           

            “Yes. She said she’d love to have you.”

            Nezumi narrowed his eyes.

            “I’m not lying,” Shion added, knowing Nezumi’s look of distrust, but Nezumi didn’t accuse him of lying.

            Instead, he shook his head and asked, “Why are you doing this?”

            Shion felt his eyebrows crease. “Doing what?”

            “Why are you here? Why are you saddling your mother with me? You’re a chemist, right? What does that have to do with law enforcement? This has nothing to do with you. I have nothing to do you with you. You shouldn’t give a shit about me. We were housemates for two weeks. That shouldn’t matter, Shion. That doesn’t matter.”

            There was clotted blood on Nezumi’s lips. His bruises would change color, and Shion wanted to watch them, see them at every stage, not miss a hue.

            “It mattered to you,” Shion reminded quietly.

            Nezumi flinched in the smallest way, hardly noticeable, a twitch of his eyebrows, a wince of his jaw.

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said shortly, but for a second, Shion had been sure Nezumi didn’t want to deny it, wanted to admit it, whatever it was, it had to be something.

            Nezumi’s hand lifted halfway again, was stopped by the straps, dropped down abruptly. He cursed under his breath, and when he did, he winced.

            Shion watched as the clot of blood over his lip welled. Nezumi must have bitten it. The red of his blood was dull and dark.           

            Shion stood from his chair. He looked only at the blood on Nezumi’s lip, watched Nezumi’s tongue touch his bottom lip, catch the drop of blood and smear it.

            Shion stepped closer to the bed until the side of it pressed against his thighs. He rested his hand on the headboard. He looked at the smeared blood on Nezumi’s lip and not whatever Nezumi’s expression might have been.

            He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think at all.

            Shion had kissed Nezumi so many times in his dreams that he was not nervous. He knew what Nezumi’s lips would feel like. The kisses in his dreams felt more real than the kiss they’d actually had nearly five months before.

            An inch from Nezumi, Shion stopped. He couldn’t see the blood on Nezumi’s bottom lip from such a close range. He could hardly see anything.

            Nezumi was tied down to the bed. Shion was aware of this. Nezumi could not move if he wanted to, so Shion allowed him a chance to say something, for a word to come from his bloodied lips and tell Shion to stop.

            Nezumi didn’t say anything. Shion closed the inch, and immediately Nezumi’s breath fell into his mouth, a hot and fast stream of it.

            Shion had not planned on kissing Nezumi long. He hadn’t planned anything, but it wasn’t supposed to be long. Just a quick kiss. Just to taste the blood on Nezumi’s lips, and it was tangy, metallicky, a sharp taste, bitter. Like poison, something that wasn’t supposed to be tasted, a warning in and of itself.

            Shion didn’t take the warning. Kept kissing Nezumi, and when Nezumi kissed back his lips were hard and very very wet, and Shion thought that must be the blood, he wondered if it was coating his own teeth.

            It didn’t feel like a dream. It felt like everything else.

            Shion wasn’t sure who made the sound, if it was himself or Nezumi, not a moan but nearly there, almost that, a catch of voice in the exchange of quick breaths, muffled by the other’s lips. At the sound that one of them made, they both pulled away.

            Shion let his hand drop from the headboard of the hospital bed. He looked at Nezumi’s hands to avoid Nezumi’s eyes, and they were tight around the bedsheet, crinkling it, knuckles white.

            Shion tried to think of an excuse, but there wasn’t any, and he didn’t want to give one.

            He didn’t want to pretend, even if he didn’t know what the truth was, even if he didn’t know what pretending might hide.

            He turned from Nezumi, saw the soldier guarding the door, and his heart jumped into his throat where he ignored it, made himself walk forward.

            The soldier stepped to the side wordlessly.

            Shion opened his lips but said nothing to her, and then he left the hospital room.

            In the elevator, he touched his lips with the tips of two fingers. When he lowered his hand and looked at it, blood smeared the lines of his fingerprints, dull and dark.

*


	11. Chapter 11

Nezumi hadn’t seen Shion since the hospital two weeks before.

            It was his fourth day in Karan’s kitchen. He liked the feeling of dough against his skin. Liked creating the lattice on pies the best because he got to handle the strips of dough, weave them gently. They were cool and smooth. He pinched the ends of them down against the edge of the crust just as Karan had showed him.

            Nezumi had never baked anything before in his life. The soldier assigned to babysit him full time at Daichi's house and on his work release at Karan’s bakery – no more changing of shifts – stood by the door with her gun in her hands, but Nezumi had learned to ignore her. In Karan’s kitchen, it was easy to forget he wasn’t a prisoner. It was easy to forget he hadn’t spent his entire life making pastries. It was easy to forget he was anything but a baker. It was easy to forget that he needed anything to sustain his own life but dough against his fingertips and flour filling the creases of his palms.   

            Nezumi even forgot to think about Shion when he was in the kitchen, but it was hard to forget to think about him when he was right beside Nezumi, two weeks since the hospital, two weeks since Nezumi was discharged and started living in Daichi's house.

            Nezumi put down the strip of dough he was holding. He didn’t have to wear handcuffs but for his transits to and from the bakery.

            Nezumi didn’t get a chance to say anything to Shion, suddenly right next to him, suddenly right there, and Nezumi wondered how long he’d been standing there, how Nezumi hadn’t even noticed Shion entering the kitchen, how Nezumi hadn’t even noticed Shion walking over to him.

            Nezumi didn’t get a chance to say anything because Shion was reaching out, hand cupping Nezumi’s neck, and then Shion was kissing Nezumi, and Nezumi decided not to think because he never had to think when he was in Karan’s kitchen.

            Nezumi kissed back. Didn’t think at all. Hands on Shion’s skin, and he was just like dough, soft, but his skin was warm instead of cool.

            Nezumi’s hands were coated in flour. He rubbed it over Shion’s skin – jawline, the lobe of his ear, the back of his neck, up into Shion’s hair where the flour would blend in, be invisible, no evidence of Nezumi’s touch there.

            It didn’t make sense that Shion was suddenly there in the kitchen, but Nezumi didn’t need it to make sense. He didn’t need anything to make sense.

            He pushed Shion against the wall beside the sink. Shion was not just kissing him. His hands were up Nezumi’s shirt. He was gasping loudly. His hands were in Nezumi’s hair. He was tugging on Nezumi’s clothing. His hands were tight around Nezumi’s shirt. He was biting Nezumi’s jaw. His hands were circling Nezumi’s waist. He was kissing Nezumi’s neck.

            Nezumi returned each touch. Pushed Shion harder even though Shion was fully up against the wall and had nowhere to go. Nezumi didn’t care. Hands around Shion’s waist. Fingers digging through Shion’s shirt into his skin. He pulled Shion towards him just so he could push Shion again. He liked when Shion exhaled hard onto his skin.

            It didn’t make sense. Nezumi stopped pinning Shion to the wall so he could pull off Shion’s shirt. He threw it on the floor that was clean because Nezumi mopped and swept it every day.

            Shion said Nezumi’s name into his collarbone. Nezumi felt full of heat.

            It didn’t make sense. Shion bit his lip that had only just healed. It hurt, and Nezumi couldn’t understand why people were scared of pain. Nezumi only wanted more of it.

            “Nezumi.” Shion said his name again. The heat in Nezumi’s body concentrated below his abdomen. He kissed Shion harder so Shion wouldn’t speak again even though there was nothing Nezumi wanted more than for Shion to say his name one more time.

            Shion breathed loudly. It was almost obscene. Shion’s teeth kept dragging on Nezumi’s lips. Nezumi couldn’t tell if it was an accident. He didn’t want it to be. He wanted to bleed so that he could see his blood staining Shion’s mouth again, the way it had two weeks before, the last time he’d seen Shion, the last time Shion had kissed him and walked away and said nothing about it.

            He hadn’t said anything now either. Just Nezumi’s name, and then he said it again, and Nezumi tightened his hands – one in Shion’s hair and the other on his hip.

            “Upstairs,” Shion said, his voice not as loud as his breaths around it. “Let’s go upstairs. My room.”

            It didn’t make sense. Nezumi let Shion push him away. Let Shion grab his hand. Let Shion pull him, through the kitchen where he was supposed to be working, past the soldier Nezumi had forgotten existed, out the door while Nezumi waited for the soldier to stop them.

            The soldier did not stop them. She looked at Nezumi as he passed her. It was a soldier he’d always liked who’d sometimes babysat him at the military base. Her brother liked _Macbeth._ Nezumi remembered that.

            Nezumi held her gaze until Shion had him all the way out of the kitchen. They were on the stairs. Nezumi felt his pulse everywhere. It didn’t make sense. He wasn’t supposed to have Shion. He wasn’t supposed to have this.

            They were in Shion’s bedroom, where Nezumi had laid in bedrest for weeks, where Shion had fed him and shaved him and helped take him to the bathroom, where Nezumi had hated himself and wanted to escape if only not to be taken care of for another second by a man who had no reason to be taking care of him.

            Shion led Nezumi to the bed Nezumi had hated. Had never wanted to return to.

            He returned to it now, easily. He pulled off his own shirt. Shion took off his jeans but left his boxers. Through Shion’s boxers, Nezumi could see that Shion was aroused, hard.

            Shion laid on the bed on his back. Nezumi hovered over him. Shion reached up and unbuttoned Nezumi’s jeans. Unzipped them. Didn’t take them off, but slid his hand beneath them, beneath Nezumi’s boxers too.

            Nezumi leaned farther down. Kissed Shion. Shion kept touching him.

            It didn’t make sense. It occurred to Nezumi that none of it was real. He was not prone to daydreams, did not see any merit in removing himself from the moment to speculate on something that could not be real.

            But this could not be real, and here Nezumi was, gasping into the space where Shion’s shoulder curved up to his neck while Shion’s hand quickened beneath his boxers.

            Nezumi cursed into Shion’s neck. Kissed the skin where his curse had fallen.

            It didn’t make sense. Nezumi never wanted to leave this moment, never wanted anything else but now. He’d always valued the present over time wasted reminiscing over the past or speculations of the future, and now he couldn’t stand the idea of time passing at all.

            He couldn’t stand the idea of time. Let it stop. He’d never had anything in his life. He’d never gotten what he wanted, and so he’d stopped wanting, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself when he’d met Shion.

            A mistake. He’d known that. He’d understood he had no business wanting Shion. He’d ignored it, but he couldn’t ignore Shion walking into Karan’s kitchen when Nezumi had been there first, he was supposed to be there, he was on work release, this was his shift, it had been Shion’s fault for walking in.

            Shion pulled his hand from Nezumi’s boxers. It was back in Nezumi’s hair and sticky and Nezumi didn’t care.

            He made himself stop kissing Shion so he could sit up. Shion’s hand fell from his hair. Nezumi leaned back and looked at Shion lying on his back. The scar from his neck winding, and Nezumi touched the waistband of Shion’s boxers before slipping his fingertips below, pulling the fabric down, unstraddling Shion’s legs for just long enough to pull the last of Shion’s clothing down Shion’s knees, down Shion’s ankles, completely off.

            Shion was naked, and it didn’t make sense. Nezumi touched his scar from where it ended at his ankle. Traced it back up.

            He’d never wanted anything since the Great Fire when everything had been taken from him. He’d never let himself want anything because if he got what he wanted, he might lose it, and nothing was worth that.

            He’d wanted Shion against his will, and it didn’t make sense because Nezumi rarely did anything against his will.

            He stopped tracing Shion’s scar. He leaned back over Shion to kiss him again, this time very lightly. Shion’s lips were soft.

            Nezumi wanted all of him, and it didn’t make sense, but he couldn’t help it. To not want this man would have been unbearable.

*

“Is he your boyfriend?” Safu asked.

            Shion squinted as the sun streamed through a break in the trees, caught in his eyes.

            “No. Of course not.”

            “Why of course not?” Safu asked. “You’ve been seeing him for a month.”

            “I’m not seeing him.”

            “You just saw him yesterday.”

            A dog ran across the expanse of lawn to the left of them, chasing a tennis ball. They were walking through the park. It was late afternoon.

            “How do you know that?” Shion asked, turning away from the dog when it caught up to the tennis ball. He looked at Safu. The wind flicked strands of her hair against her jacket collar.

            Safu glanced at him, smiled lightly. “I went to the library this morning and he happened to be there and I happened to ask about you and he happened to mention you guys went to the movies last night.”

            Shion frowned. “Are you stalking me?”

            Safu laughed. Linked her arm through Shion’s. “If you told me a little about your life, I wouldn’t have to. You’ve been avoiding me for a week. It’s your own fault that you don’t answer my calls.”

            Shion looked away from her. “We just went to the movies. That doesn’t mean I’m seeing him.”

            “I like the librarian. And I don’t understand your avoidance of a relationship with him. He likes you a lot.”

            Shion said nothing. He’d meant to tell the librarian it was best if they stopped seeing each other the night before, but he hadn’t.

            They weren’t seeing each other anyway. They got dinner sometimes and had slept together a few times – though they hadn’t done the latter in a week, and Shion was running out of excuses to stop the librarian from coming home with him to spend the night as he’d used to.

            It was best to break it off. Shion didn’t know why he hadn’t. He thought it was the librarian’s smile. He had a nice smile. Shion didn’t want to take it away. Here was somebody who was happy. Shion didn’t want to break that. He’d used to be naturally happy too. To not think anything could hurt him.

            “Shion,” Safu said.

            “Hmm?”

            “Your reluctance to move forward with the librarian – it isn’t anything to do with Nezumi, is it?”

            Shion could hear the hesitation in Safu’s voice. There were cherry blossom trees lining the path where they walked. Shion liked when the breeze slipped through their branches, swaying them, pulling cherry blossoms free and tossing them into the sky.

            Shion had been sleeping with Nezumi for a week. He had not told Safu this. He had not told anyone this. He hardly even spoke to Nezumi himself.

            Shion went daily to his mother’s bakery. Sometimes Nezumi was there, sometimes he wasn’t.

            When he was, Shion would pull him from the kitchen up to his childhood bedroom. They’d have sex without speaking but for a small collection of words – _Nezumi; Higher; Right there; Fuck; Shion; Harder; Shit; Your Majesty._ Then Shion would dress and leave before they could say anything outside the small collection of words that were safe to speak.

            When Nezumi was not at the bakery, Shion would come back a few hours later.

            He liked best when Nezumi made cherry pie. It had always been Shion’s favorite. He liked to smell it on Nezumi’s skin. He liked when there were smears of filling on Nezumi’s fingers so he could lick it off. He liked when he kissed Nezumi and could taste the pie on Nezumi’s lips, imagined Nezumi sticking his finger into the bowl of filling as he mixed it, imagined Nezumi deciding if it needed more sugar or butter, imagined Nezumi tasting it again, just to be sure.

            “What would anything regarding the librarian have to do with Nezumi?” Shion asked, instead of telling Safu about the cherry pie on Nezumi’s lips, or the way Nezumi’s lips felt on the creases of his thighs, or the way Nezumi hid his face when he climaxed – either in Shion’s neck or the pillow or the bedsheets or just bent his head so that his bangs came forward and kept his expression a secret while his body shuddered in jolted movements against Shion’s.

            Shion watched a fallen cherry blossom skitter across the path a few feet in front of them. He didn’t tell Safu about the way the ridges of Nezumi’s scar felt under his fingers, or the way Nezumi’s fingers gripped so hard on Shion’s skin that Shion was often left with cuts, or the way Nezumi looked at Shion afterward – before Shion got dressed, before Shion left, in the small space of time where they didn’t say anything to each other even though they should have, and instead Nezumi just looked at him with a gaze that was heavy and quiet and grey and made Shion stop breathing as if he wasn’t already out of breath.

            Nezumi had said that Shion acted recklessly. That he didn’t plan enough. He didn’t have patience.

            He was right. Shion didn’t plan anything. He had sex with Nezumi without thinking about what it meant, what would come of it, what could happen when something changed, and something had to change. Nezumi was also right that Shion didn’t have patience. He wanted to be at the bakery now. He wanted to be pulling Nezumi away from whatever pastry he was making that day now, he wanted to be undressing Nezumi now, he wanted to be opening his lips over Nezumi’s now.

            Shion had sex with Nezumi because he felt as though he’d been lying to himself, and he didn’t know what the lie was, but he knew the truth was that he wanted to have sex with Nezumi, he wanted to touch Nezumi and more than that he wanted Nezumi to touch him, roaming fingers that traced lines Shion hadn’t even known mapped his own skin.

            “Have you seen him since the hospital?” Safu was asking.

            Shion hadn’t told her that he’d kissed Nezumi in the hospital just to taste his blood.

            “No,” Shion said, lying to Safu whom he never lied to. “Why would I see him?”

            He wanted her to answer. To tell him. Tell him what he felt because he couldn’t name it, underneath the _want_ and _lust_ and _hunger_ he didn’t know what it was.

            He didn’t know why he couldn’t forget Nezumi. Put Nezumi out of his mind. Accept that Nezumi had no role in his life any longer, and what previous roles he’d taken had not been admirable, had not been meant to lead to anything like this, anything like shoving Nezumi against his desk or pulling Nezumi’s shirt too hard and accidentally ripping it or watching Nezumi’s dark eyelashes flutter when he rocked gently into him.

             “Well, he is at your mother’s bakery,” Safu said.

            They stopped walking, having reached the point on the path where they’d started, walked the full loop of it.

            Shion looked at Safu, his best friend who knew everything about him except for now, but Shion thought maybe that was okay, because he himself didn’t know what he was doing either.

            “Only sometimes,” Shion said. “I haven’t run into him. Have you?”

            “I have, actually. I saw him two days ago.”

            Shion blinked. He’d fucked Nezumi yesterday morning, before he’d gone to the movies with the librarian. Nezumi hadn’t mentioned seeing Safu, but then, they didn’t talk, there was no space to mention it, no allowance to mention anything.

            Shion had seen Nezumi two days ago as well. They’d had sex on the floor. Shion had wanted the feel of rug burn, the pain of it, the added sensation of that pain to the pleasure Nezumi offered him.

            “You did?”

            Safu shrugged. “He said hello. And he asked about you.”

            “He did?” Shion asked.

            Safu raised an eyebrow. “Sure. He asked how you were doing.”

            “What did you tell him?” Shion wondered how he was doing. He felt incredible and awful. He felt torn and confused and fantastic in high, concentrated amounts. It was a relief to fuck Nezumi, when all there was to feel was pleasure and nothing else.

            “I told him you had a boyfriend,” Safu said.

            “Why would you tell him that?”

            “Because I think he has feelings for you, and it’s best if he didn’t,” Safu said slowly.

            “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

            “I didn’t know that at the time. I thought the librarian was your boyfriend. The librarian probably thinks that too.”

            “He doesn’t think that,” Shion corrected, though he didn’t know if this was true. “And why is it best if Nezumi didn’t have feelings for me? Not that he does. He doesn’t. He has no reason too. We hardly know each other.”

            The lies were thick on Shion’s tongue. He swallowed the taste of them. He would go to the bakery after he parted from Safu. He would kiss Nezumi long and slow. He would let Nezumi touch him everywhere on his skin.

            Safu tilted her head. Looked at Shion in a careful way. “Do you realize it’s been half a year since you’ve met Nezumi? And within those six months, the time you’ve spent around him has totaled to less than one month. But even so, despite the short time that you’ve really known him, we’re still talking about him. How long will we be talking about him, Shion? You’ve put him in your mother’s bakery. How is he supposed to become just a part of your past? You must want him in your life. You must want something from him.”

            “I don’t want anything from him.”

            Safu didn’t say anything for a minute, and when she did, her voice was soft, her eyes creased in concern. “I can’t tell if you’re lying to me, or if you really don’t know what you want.”

            Shion swallowed. Tucked his hands in his pockets.

            When he saw Nezumi later that day, he would take his time with him. He would touch Nezumi only softly and slowly. He would be so gentle that it would fluster Nezumi, who didn’t know tenderness. Who didn’t trust kindness. Who hadn’t been cared for.

            He would give everything to Nezumi that Nezumi hadn’t had in his life. He would frighten Nezumi the way Nezumi frightened him, made him feel too much, burned his skin in just one breathless whisper of _Your Majesty,_ broke his heart in just one heavy-lidded look, over and over again.

            “I wish I wanted the librarian,” Shion admitted. “I wish I wanted anyone but Nezumi. I wish it was easier, but more than any of that, I’m so relieved it’s not. My whole life has been easy. My whole life has been getting what I want. It’s a relief, to finally know what it is to struggle and be wrong and lie and get hurt.”

            Safu dropped her gaze. Turned her head, and Shion wondered if she was watching the cherry blossoms, if she was hoping one might be tossed closer by the wind, touch her skin, land in her hair.

            There were cherry blossom trees planted all over the Gold District. The same year they were planted in excess, the Gold District government sent a team of people to bulldoze every cherry blossom tree in the border areas. Now they belonged to the Gold District only. Now they were special, even more beautiful than before.

            “Sometimes I think that I miss my best friend,” Safu was saying quietly, still not looking at Shion. “That I’ve been missing you since you were taken hostage by Nezumi. That you were never let go from him.”

            Shion pulled his arms tight against the sides of his body. It was not cold out, but he wanted to be warmer, he wanted to burn.

            Safu looked at him again. A few strands of her hair were tossed by the wind to stick on her lips, and she spoke without moving them. “But then you say things like that with such certainty, and I see you again. And even though you’re different now, you’re just the same too. You’re resolute and stubborn and unapologetic, and I love all those things about you. I want you to be happy. I want you to protect yourself.”

            Shion liked when Nezumi held him. It had only happened once, after they’d had sex five days before. Nezumi’s arms were long and solid. Shion wondered if anyone in the world had ever felt as safe as he had in that moment.

            “I know,” Shion told his friend.

            The wind picked up. Both Shion and Safu turned to watch the cherry blossom trees, waiting for them to turn the sky beautiful.

*

Nezumi was reading on his bed in Daichi's house, a book Daichi had picked up for him at the library.

            Daichi was talkative and nosy and seemed to be a complete idiot, but Nezumi had gotten used to him. To live in his house was not terrible, though Nezumi tried not to let himself get used to it. That would mean accepting it. That would mean acknowledging it was all he’d ever be allowed to have.

            “It’s not my business,” said Nezumi’s full-time military babysitter, who sat on the chair beside Nezumi’s bed and read her own book – _Hamlet._

            Nezumi glanced at her. Touched the corner of the page he was on but didn’t fold it. “Then don’t mention it,” he replied.

            The soldier who watched him had kind eyes. She wore her hair in a tight bun. She didn’t always have her hand on the trigger of her gun the way she was supposed to. She did not act as if she was watching Nezumi, but merely that she happened to always be in the same room that Nezumi was, a quiet, unimposing presence, like a shadow.

            The one room where she didn’t follow Nezumi was Shion’s childhood bedroom above Karan’s bakery. She never spoke of Nezumi’s daily breach in his work release guidelines, but Nezumi knew it was the topic she intended to speak on now.

            “Have you thought about what Shion’s friend said the other day?” the soldier asked.

            Nezumi had never heard her say Shion’s name. He hadn’t realized that she’d known it, but now it felt obvious. Of course she did. Shion was relatively known since the almost-war.

            Safu had been at the bakery three days before. It was the first time Nezumi saw her since the day he and Shion broke into the Resistance Force compound and failed to rescue her.

            “It’s not your business,” Nezumi reminded the soldier.

            The soldier looked at him for a long moment. She had freckles. Nezumi had never known anyone who had freckles.

            “But you like him. You want more than what you and Shion do at Karan’s,” she said, and she didn’t say what had prompted her intrusion into his personal life, but Nezumi didn’t need her to.

            It was the offhanded mention at the end of Safu’s response, when Nezumi had asked her about Shion – _Oh, and he has a boyfriend._

            “Again. It’s not your business,” Nezumi repeated, turning away from the soldier now.

            He didn’t know if Safu had been lying. He didn’t think Safu liked him, but it was hard to be sure. She was difficult to read. Nezumi was not accustomed to people like her.

            “It’s okay to have feelings. It’s okay if they get hurt.”

            Nezumi turned the page of his book even though he hadn’t finished the one he was on.

            “If you wanted to talk about it, I’m always here. Twenty-four-seven,” the soldier said gently, laughing lightly at the end of her sentence.

            Nezumi flipped another page. His shift at the bakery was in two hours. He hoped Karan would ask him to make cherry pie.

            It was Shion’s favorite. Nezumi knew, even though Shion hadn’t told him.

            They never told each other anything. Nezumi guessed Shion didn’t want to talk to him, and that made sense.

            To talk would make it something more than sex. And Shion clearly didn’t want more.

            Nezumi had never had the luxury of being greedy, and he wasn’t going to start now. He knew better than to hope for more than what he was allowed to have.

*

Shion sat naked against the headboard with his knees pulled up to his chest. He played with the edge of the bedsheet with his bare toes.

            Nezumi lay beside him, equally undressed. Shion wanted to look at him, but he looked at his own toes instead.

            “Do you ever think about what else is out there? The rest of the world outside the Gold District? Outside the border areas?” Shion spoke without meaning to.

            They never spoke. He’d been having sex with Nezumi for seventeen days. He kept count without meaning to. The number seventeen did not seem so daunting.

            He thought about other numbers. Fifty. One hundred. Three-hundred sixty-five. Numbers that seemed impossible. Numbers that he wanted and didn’t want at the same time.

            Nezumi stirred beside him. Shion watched the hem of the sheet move against his toes.

            “What if we left?” Shion whispered, thinking maybe if he spoke quietly, it might be as if he wasn’t speaking at all. “What if we went somewhere else, somewhere outside all of this?”

            Nezumi was quiet. Shion wanted to look at him. Resisted the urge, and then Nezumi was speaking.

            “Your Majesty,” Nezumi said, and he didn’t say anything else, and Shion waited until he couldn’t any longer.

            He looked at Nezumi, who was sitting up now, and Nezumi looked sad.

            His eyes were soft. The sadness was in his eyebrows, the smallest crease between them. The sadness was in his lips, the slight part of them.

            Shion didn’t know if he’d ever seen sadness on Nezumi. He couldn’t remember it. It squeezed his entire skeleton. It built thickly in his throat.

            Shion wondered if he was hurting Nezumi. He thought maybe he was. He couldn’t help it.

            He wanted to take Nezumi out of this room. He wanted to try this, to do it right with him, to go to dinner with Nezumi, to go to the park with Nezumi, to take Nezumi to the library and watch him take in all of the books, to get to know Nezumi as someone outside of this room, outside of those weeks at Nezumi’s house in the border area, outside of any sort of bind – the soldier who had to watch Nezumi, the handcuffs that were on Nezumi’s wrists and ankles when he left the bakery or Daichi's house, the fact that he was not allowed to go anywhere other than the bakery or Daichi's house.

            Shion didn’t care that he didn’t know Nezumi well. He didn’t care that he’d been Nezumi’s hostage. He didn’t care that Nezumi had worked for the Resistance Force.

            He wanted to try something more, he wanted to have something more, he couldn’t stop thinking about Nezumi and wanted to stop fighting the thoughts he had.

            But Nezumi was a prisoner. And they weren’t allowed to even be in this room together. Nezumi wasn’t allowed anything but to stay in Daichi’s house and work in Karan’s kitchen on his daily shifts, and Shion didn’t know how to turn that into a life they could possibly begin to live together.

            “Nezumi. I wish – ”

            “I think we should stop. You should stop coming here. We should stop,” Nezumi said suddenly, his voice abrupt and words short, almost cut off at the edges.

            Shion swallowed. Caught his breath. Made himself say the words in his head, protest. “You like me. You don’t want to stop.”

            Nezumi’s jaw flinched. “You don’t know what I want.”

            “It’s not one-sided, Nezumi,” Shion said softly, leaning forward, and Nezumi leaned away from him, then stood up, bent to pick up his clothing.

            Shion watched him dress himself. His movements were jerky. Angry.

            “Nezumi – ”

            “Stop talking, Shion. You don’t know what you’re saying. It’s nonsense, it’s always just a load of shit from you, you don’t think before you speak, you don’t think before you act, you don’t think before you kiss me in the hospital or come here every fucking day – for what? You could have anything, do you know that? Is this some complex you’ve got? Is it shame? You’re ashamed at all the privileges and freedom that you’ve got piled on top of you, so you think you have to make yourself suffer, that’ll somehow even out our plains of existence, that’ll somehow make you know what it’s like to be me?” Nezumi said, his voice rising, and Shion wrapped his arms around his legs.

            He wished he wasn’t naked, but he didn’t want to move.

            “I’m not making myself suffer,” he managed, but Nezumi was shaking his head before Shion even got the words out.

            “Bullshit. You’re a goddamn liar. You have nothing to gain from being here. I’ve got nothing to give you, Shion. I’ve got nothing – ”

            “I don’t want anything from you!” Shion said, his voice rising.

            Nezumi exhaled in a way that pulled down his shoulders. He was fully dressed. His hand was in his hair. The skin of his neck was no longer pink at all from when he’d almost been killed, but sometimes Shion imagined he could still see the handprints.

            “What about what I want?” Nezumi asked quietly. His hand dropped from his hair.

            “What do you want?” Shion had inched forward to the edge of the bed. He sat on his knees, pulling the sheet around him because he was still naked and Nezumi wasn’t any longer.

            Nezumi bent down. Stood up again holding Shion’s boxers and came towards the bed, held it out, so Shion took it, looked up at Nezumi who watched him in that way he did, in that way no one had ever looked at Shion, but Nezumi did, with so much focus Shion wondered what Nezumi saw.

            “I want you to stop coming here so I can stop wanting more,” Nezumi finally said.

            “I want more too,” Shion insisted, but Nezumi just shook his head.

            He reached out, touched Shion’s cheek, and Shion knew he was tracing his scar.

            “Haven’t I told you that you can’t always get what you want, Your Majesty?” Nezumi asked gently, and Shion might have believed him, but then Nezumi leaned forward, kissed Shion even more gently than his words had been. It was all Shion thought he could ever wish for in that moment, and Shion knew Nezumi would always give him what he wanted even when Nezumi promised he couldn’t.

*

Nezumi masturbated in the shower.

            He thought about Shion and climaxed with his knees weak and one hand against the shower wall.

            He felt empty afterwards, and turned the water on hot so that it burned his skin. He waited for more scars to rip him open until there were three hard knocks on the door, and the soldier was telling him his fifteen minutes were up and to hurry and get out because Daichi had dinner ready and it was getting cold.

            Nezumi turned off the shower and stood in the steam, dripping and wondering for the first time if the horrible feelings that wracked him were more than just want and desire – he wondered if he was in love.

*

“You don’t want me to come over,” the librarian said.

            His name was Kazuo, but in his head, Shion thought of him as the librarian. It made it easier to think of Kazuo as someone not truly part of his life. As just the librarian, not someone Shion slept with, certainly not a boyfriend.

            Shion was in a bookstore. He’d been avoiding the library, but still wanted to read.

            He had not expected the librarian to be in the bookstore. It felt wrong, somehow. As if the librarian was cheating, but it wasn’t the librarian who was guilty of that.

            The librarian, after finding Shion in the classic literature aisle, had asked Shion if he was busy that night.

            Shion hadn’t been able to think of an excuse before the librarian answered for him.

            “It’s not that,” Shion said weakly.

            The librarian tilted his head. “You’ve been avoiding me for over two weeks.”

            “I haven’t,” Shion lied.

            The librarian shrugged. Looked away from Shion, at the shelf of books, which he spoke to. “It’s okay. I just thought our feelings were mutual. I haven’t felt the way I do about you in a while.”

            Shion bit the inside of his cheek. Made himself stop. “I’m sorry,” he managed.

            The librarian looked at him again. “If it was moving too fast, we can be more casual. I’m all right with that.”

            “It’s not that,” Shion insisted.

            “Did I do something?”

            Shion wished the librarian would make it easier. Would smile like he did so easily and assure Shion there were no hard feelings and leave the bookstore and return to the library where he was supposed to be.

            Shion shook his head. “No. It’s not you. It’s….” Shion didn’t know how to say it.

            “It’s someone else,” the librarian finished for him.

            Shion swallowed. Nodded.

            “Is it Nezumi?”

            At first, Shion thought he’d heard incorrectly. His eyebrows creased. “Sorry?”

            The librarian smiled, a lighter version than usual. “I saw you on the news, you know. Before you started coming into the library always badgering me for that book you had on hold. I recognized you immediately, you’re easy to recognize. The guy who had the alleged affair with the border area infiltrator. I’d thought you were cute even then, on the news,” he said, laughing gently, his cheeks tinting pink the way they did.

            Shion thought about lying. He’d never thought of himself as a liar before. He wondered if he could go back to the time when he didn’t have lies to tell.

            “Yes,” he admitted, his voice quiet, so he raised it for the librarian to hear. “Yes, it’s Nezumi.”

            The librarian nodded. He took a breath that Shion could see from the rise of his chest. He let it out through his lips in a fast stream that Shion could hear.

            Shion didn’t know if the librarian was angry. He’d never seen the librarian angry before. They hadn’t known each other well enough to be angry around each other.

            “Can I ask – It’s insensitive, maybe, but I’ll just wonder if I don’t – Did you sleep with him while we were together? We never said we were exclusive, obviously, I just want to know, my own curiosity, it’s inappropriate,” the librarian said, his words coming quickly, and he shook his head at the end of them, lifted a hand to rub hard at the back of his neck, stared down at the floor.

            Shion didn’t think he’d ever hurt anyone before. He hated it, the waves of heat that barreled through him.

            “Yes,” he whispered.

            The librarian looked quickly up at Shion. “Isn’t he a prisoner?”

            Shion rubbed his hands on the thighs of his jeans. They were sweating. “He has work release at my mother’s bakery,” he said, as if it were a mere coincidence.

            The librarian nodded once, stiffly. “Oh.”

            “I’m really sorry,” Shion said, stepping forward. “I meant to tell you, I kept meaning to tell you. And I do really like you. I’m not like this, normally. I don’t – I don’t do things like this.”

            The librarian shrugged again, this time jerkily. “It’s nothing. You can do what you want. We never said we were exclusive.” His words were short, bitter, odd in the voice Shion had only before heard as carefree and happy.

            Shion’s stomach squeezed. “I am sorry.”

            The librarian inhaled deeply again. Exhaled through his lips again. “You do want to stop seeing me, right? That’s why you’ve been avoiding me.”

            Shion blinked. “I didn’t think you’d want to keep going out if I was also, you know – ”

            “Sleeping with that Nezumi guy,” the librarian finished.

            “Yeah,” Shion managed.

            “I guess not. I do like you though, Shion, and I can’t help asking – I mean, you know he’s a prisoner. What kind of life is that going to be for you, if you’re with him? I just – It’s not that I’m telling you to be with me, I want that, obviously, but that’s not – ” the librarian shook his head. Breathed deeply again. Looked at the shelf of books again.

            Shion stood and watched him and wished he could do something, say something, but didn’t know what would help, if anything could.

            The librarian breathed deeply two more times, then looked at Shion again. “I want you to have a good life. If it’s not with me, then fine. But him?”

            Shion flinched. “Just because he’s from the border areas – ”

            “It’s nothing to do with the border areas! It’s not even that he kidnapped our citizens and took them hostage. It’s that he’s a prisoner now, and he always will be, and I thought you were intelligent, Shion, I really like that about you, so I know you must see how pointless it is to like a guy like him.”

            Shion shook his head. Took a step back. “I can’t have this conversation with you.”

            “Shion – ”

            Shion freed his wrist when the librarian reached out for it. “I have to go. I’m really sorry,” Shion said, backing away, then turning fully, leaving the librarian, leaving the bookstore, walking all the way to the bakery and waving to his mother at the front counter before going to the back kitchen where Nezumi was mixing something in a bowl.

            He looked up when Shion burst in. The day before, he’d told Shion to not come back, but Shion didn’t care about that.

            He didn’t care about people telling him what he was allowed to want. What he was allowed to have. Maybe it was his Gold District entitlement, and maybe Nezumi would call him a spoiled brat, but Shion didn’t care.

            “Shion,” Nezumi said, and Shion didn’t let him say anything else, walked up to him and kissed him hard, and Nezumi allowed it for a second or two before there were hands on Shion’s shoulders, pushing him away.

            Shion’s hands curled into fists.

            “Wait a second, okay?” Nezumi said, but Shion didn’t want to.

            “No, you wait,” Shion argued. “The Resistance Force tried to kill me and you shielded my body with yours. I stood behind you listening to Saya talking about shooting your arms and legs, and my entire body was shaking, but you didn’t even flinch.”

            Nezumi opened his lips. Closed them. Leaned against the counter after a moment. “I’m a little more accustomed to death threats than you are, Your Majesty.”

            “I know I was your hostage, but you let me go after hardly two days even though you had everything to lose and nothing to gain from that.”

            “Are you suggesting I made the wrong decision?” Nezumi asked, after only looking at Shion for half a minute.

            Shion shook his head. Relaxed his hands from their fists. Tried to make Nezumi understand what he felt. “I know you’re a prisoner, and you don’t think we could possibly have any type of future together, and to even try to be a part of each other’s lives properly for once is pointless and futile. And I know it would be easier to give up on you and try to feel the way I do about you with someone else. But I also know no one will ever care about me the way you do. No one will ever look at me the way you do. No one will ever want me the way you do. I don’t care if you deny it because I’m very intelligent, Nezumi, and I know how you feel, I have no doubt of it. Maybe we haven’t gotten a chance to really know each other, but when I imagine what it might be like when we do, I only think how much more you’ll feel for me, how no one could compare to that.”

            “There’s that self-centered attitude I keep telling you to drop,” Nezumi pointed out.

            “Am I wrong?” Shion asked, and Nezumi just looked at him.

            His hair was in a ponytail. There was flour on the left side of his jaw. His eyes were grey and incredible.

            “I won’t settle for less than what you feel for me. I can’t settle for less, not now that I’ve known you.”

            “It’s an ugly trait to be so vain,” Nezumi said.

            “Am I wrong?” Shion asked again, stepping closer to Nezumi, who watched him with steady eyes.

            Shion loved to be looked at by Nezumi. Wondered how he’d spent his life until then not being looked at like this.

            “You’re full of yourself.”

            “Am I wrong?”

            “Arrogant. Snobbish. The Gold District stereotype holds true.”

            “Am I wrong?”

            “You should be embarrassed,” Nezumi said, quietly because Shion leaned so close to him he did not need to speak above a whisper for Shion to feel each syllable on his lips.

            “Am I wrong?” Shion breathed, and Nezumi’s lips parted, but he didn’t say anything.

            Shion reached up, tucked Nezumi’s bangs behind his ear just to touch him.

            “You’re wrong,” Nezumi said. Shion hadn’t taken his hand from Nezumi’s hair.

            “I think you’re lying.”

            Nezumi’s lips turned up, just barely. “Border area residents can’t help from lying.”

            Shion pressed his smile to Nezumi’s lips before he could see how wide it was. Nezumi didn’t push him away.

*


	12. Chapter 12

At night, the soldier slept on a cot outside Nezumi’s bedroom door. He did not have windows in his room. The first night Shion slept over – getting Daichi’s enthusiastic approval and an invitation to both dinner that night and breakfast the next day and lunch if he could stay longer – the soldier spoke to Nezumi while Shion brushed his teeth with the toothbrush Daichi had happily produced for him.

            “Do you think this is a good idea?” the soldier asked, while Nezumi freed his hair from its ponytail.

            “What was that?”

            “Shion sleeping over here.”    

            “I don’t think it has anything to do with you,” Nezumi replied, pulling off his sweater and the shirt underneath.

            “It does, actually. You’re my responsibility.”

            “I’m not breaking out or conspiring against the Gold District, am I? I’m fucking someone. Unless that’s a crime too.”

            The soldier frowned. She held her gun in her right hand, the way she always did. “I don’t hate you, Nezumi, not like a lot of people I know. I volunteered for this station of watching you. No one else wanted to do it. I’m looked down upon by my military colleagues. They see me as a babysitter. They tell me I’m no longer in the military, having a duty like this.”

            Nezumi looked away from her, at his bed. It was small. It was Shion who had insisted he sleep over, begging Nezumi when Nezumi had told him to forget it.

            It’d been a week since Shion came to the bakery and rambled on about his refusal to give up on him. Shion had informed him later that evening that he’d broken up with his boyfriend. He’d said it in an offhanded way, and Nezumi had said nothing back.

            He’d turned the word over in his head. _Boyfriend._

            “I don’t blame you for any of it,” the soldier said, softer now. “I volunteered for this, like I said. It was my decision, and I don’t regret it. But I am in the military, and this is my duty – you are my duty. I take it seriously. I like you, Nezumi, but I don’t consider myself your friend. I am not here to accommodate what you want. I am here to keep the Gold District safe from you.”

            Nezumi glanced at her. “And what are you insinuating, exactly? That Shion is not safe with me? That I’ll kill him – a precious Gold District citizen – if he sleeps over tonight?”

            “I don’t think you’ll do that. I only worry that him being here will make you forget why you’re here. You’re not a free man. You’re a prisoner. You shouldn’t forget that. It’ll only make both our lives more difficult, if you forget why we’re both here.”

            Nezumi narrowed his eyes. “Don’t worry yourself. I could hardly forget why I’m stuck here. Your gun is a lovely reminder.”

            The soldier couldn’t reply, as Shion was appearing in the open doorway, coming into the room.

            He looked from the soldier to Nezumi, then back at the soldier, whom he addressed.

            “It’s okay that I stay the night, right, Yumi?” he asked, and the soldier gave him a light smile.

            “Sure, Shion,” she said, but she looked at Nezumi as she left, stopping at the doorway. “I’ll be outside,” she reminded, and Nezumi nodded at her.

            He didn’t need the reminder. Shion spending the night meant nothing.

            Nezumi knew he was still a prisoner. He knew he was not allowed to leave. He knew he was not free.

*

Shion fell in love with Nezumi quickly.

            It was easy to, the incoherent tangle of feelings he’d been growing recklessly for Nezumi since he’d known the man naturally unraveling into what Shion understood as love by the second month he’d been sleeping with Nezumi.

            It was inevitable, and Shion was not surprised by it, the realization of it, the acceptance of it.

            He was lying in bed in Daichi’s house with Nezumi when it occurred to him, and he mulled it over in his head, understood it and trusted it and opened his eyes.         

            It was late in the night. Shion was meant to be falling asleep. Nezumi laid beside him, tracing patterns on the skin of his stomach, and Shion hadn’t wanted to interrupt him, had wanted to fall asleep to the feeling of starlight sinking into his skin.

            He was lying on his back. He turned his head to look at Nezumi, who laid on his side, his eyes on Shion’s stomach where he traced. His gaze flickered up as if Nezumi knew he was being watched.

            His fingers stilled on Shion’s skin.

            “I love you,” Shion told him, and Nezumi continued to watch him in silence before his gaze was gone again, and his fingers resumed their tracing.

            Shion knew that Nezumi loved him too. He had known this for longer than he’d known he loved Nezumi in return.

            He wondered how Nezumi could love someone when for most of his life, he hadn’t known love at all. For most of his life, he hadn’t been cared about. For most of his life, he hadn’t been wanted. It amazed Shion, that Nezumi could feel so deeply these emotions that he hadn’t been exposed to since the death of his family.

            Shion wanted to give everything to Nezumi that had been taken from him. He knew he could not do this. He knew nothing he said or felt could ever amount to what Nezumi had lost.

            Shion reached down, caught Nezumi’s tracing hand in his, strung his fingers through Nezumi’s and lifted their hands above his face so that he could look at them.

            Nezumi’s fingers were long and pale. They reached halfway down the back of Shion’s hand.

            Shion dropped their hands, rested them over his heart. Nezumi didn’t pull away. He shifted closer, and then there was warmth on the top of Shion’s arm.

            Shion turned his head again. Saw that Nezumi was resting his forehead just below Shion’s shoulder. Shion could feel the skate of his breaths on his arm.

            The love Shion felt was a thundering thing and kept Shion awake for hours more.

*

Karan walked into the kitchen while Nezumi was forsaking the chocolate chip cookies in the oven to make out with Shion, who sat on the sink.

            He did not smell them burning until Karan’s startled – _Oh!_ – jolted him from Shion’s lips, and he turned and smelled the smoke all at once.

            He ran to the oven while Shion stammered behind him.

            “Oh, Mom, hi, um…”

            Nezumi turned to glare at the soldier who stood at the doorway as always. She could have said something about the cookies that Nezumi pulled out from the oven, the bottoms of them completely black.

            “Fuck,” he told them, setting them on the counter and turning back to turn off the oven.

            “I’d prefer if you used my kitchen only for baking,” Karan said, and Nezumi glanced at her.

            “Sorry, Karan,” he said.

            “We have customers waiting on those,” she said, pointing to the pan of burnt cookies.

            Nezumi pushed his hair from his face. “It won’t happen again.”

            “I hope so,” Karan said, and she looked at Shion before leaving the kitchen again.

            Nezumi rested his palms on the counter and exhaled deeply before looking at Shion, who had slid off the sink.

            “Did she know about us?” he asked Shion, whose face was red.

            “No. I don’t know. I’ve been coming back here for weeks, she would see me walk through the bakery, she must have suspected – I don’t know,” Shion managed.

            Nezumi looked away from him. Picked up a cookie, examined the bottom of it. “Fuck,” he said again.

            “I guess we should make more,” Shion said.

            “You think?”

            Shion was standing beside Nezumi now. He touched Nezumi’s wrist, and Nezumi dropped the cookie, pulled away from him.

            “It’s okay,” Shion said, and Nezumi stepped away from him, went to the cupboard for a mixing bowl to give himself a reason to have recoiled.

            He gathered the ingredients for the cookies, then took the pan and overturned it over the trash before throwing it in the sink.

            “Nezumi – ”

            “Sorry your secret’s blown,” Nezumi said, ripping open a bag of chocolate chips so that they fell all over the counter, some on the floor.

            He stared at them. His skin was hot. He was angry, and he realized this only as an afterthought.

            “You’re not a secret,” Shion said.

            Nezumi looked at him. “I should be. You should be ashamed of yourself, to be with me.”

            Shion’s eyebrows were creased. “I’m not.”

            “That’s stupid of you. I wouldn’t want my mother to know if I was fucking a border area felon.”

            “We’re not just fucking.”

            “Can you get me the measuring cup?”

            “I didn’t tell her because – because – there’s not a reason, but it’s not because I’m ashamed of you,” Shion said, not moving, not getting the measuring cup, so Nezumi walked around him, got it himself.

            “Does Safu know?” Nezumi asked, after he’d filled the measuring cup with water at the sink and returned to the counter.

            Shion was squinting at him. “I didn’t think you’d care who knows.”

            “I don’t,” Nezumi replied easily. He tried to collect the chocolate chips scattered all over the counter. “But you do.”

            “No, I don’t! And Safu does know, of course she does. We’ve been going out for three months.”

            Nezumi laughed, shook his head. “We’re not going out. I can’t go out anywhere, remember?”

            “You know what I mean.”

            “No, I don’t. Explain it to me,” Nezumi said, no longer gathering the chocolate chips, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest and looking at Shion fully. “Explain to me what’s going on in your head. I want to hear how you rationalize it. I want to know what bullshit you tell yourself.”

            “Do you just like picking fights?” Shion snapped.

            “I like acknowledging reality, which you seem to enjoy avoiding, so I’ve got to do it for the both of us.”

            “You think I don’t know you’re a prisoner? You remind me every day, Nezumi. You tell me how stupid I am constantly. Can’t you give it a rest? I know what you are. I do realize I never see you outside Daichi’s house or the bakery. I do notice that Yumi is always standing in the same room as us with a gun to use on you if you try to leave these places. I don’t have my head in the clouds, but I also don’t have this incessant need to dissect the situation tirelessly. We’re in love, and for right now, temporarily, I’m letting that be a good thing because it never got to be a good thing before. Can’t you let it be a good thing for a minute? Can’t you let yourself be happy without compromise for a second of your life?” Shion demanded.

            “No, actually, I can’t do that. I didn’t grow up like you, where I was allowed to just be happy and not remember that things actually suck. I don’t have training in that shit, I’m so sorry I’m not an expert in denial like you are, Your Majesty,” Nezumi said shortly, and Shion exhaled roughly.

            “You’re so infuriating!”

            “My apologies for not coddling you and agreeing to your every whim and demand,” Nezumi replied.

            Shion threw his hands up in the air. “I can’t deal with you,” he said, and then he shoved past Nezumi and stormed out of the kitchen.

            Nezumi watched him go, then stared at the empty doorway before glancing at the soldier, who watched him with raised eyebrows.

            “He’s like a child throwing a tantrum,” Nezumi muttered.

            “I didn’t say anything,” the soldier said.

            “You know what he wants? He wants me to follow him. He wants me to go after him and make him feel better, and he’s a fucking idiot because I can’t fucking leave here, and he knows it,” Nezumi snapped.

            “You know, no one’s making you have a relationship with him,” the soldier replied, and Nezumi bristled.

            “Thanks for the insight.”

            “I’m just saying, I’ve witnessed a lot of your arguments, well, all of them, and you seem to act as if his presence in your life is an inconvenience you’re forced to suffer, but he’s not part of your prison sentence. You don’t have many choices as a prisoner, Nezumi, but this is one of them. He’s your choice.”

            “Did I ask for your opinion?” Nezumi asked, pushing his hair from his face.

            The soldier shrugged. “I’ll just keep it to myself then.”

            “Yeah, do that.”

            “You could be kinder to him though.”

            “Weren’t you keeping your opinions to yourself?” Nezumi demanded, and the soldier smiled wanly.

            “You’re right, you’re right,” she said, and she said nothing else.

            Nezumi stared at the mess of chocolate chips all over the counter.

            He couldn’t go after Shion, but he wanted to.

            He wanted to follow Shion everywhere, and if he had been allowed to make that choice, he would have made it every time.

*

Shion returned the bakery when he knew Nezumi would not be there.

            He found his mother in the kitchen, sitting on a stool and writing in the notepad where Shion knew she planned what pastries she would put out the next day.

            “Mom,” Shion said, to announce his presence, and his mother glanced up at him.

            “Oh, hi, honey. I wasn’t expecting you.”

            Shion walked around the counter so it sat between him and his mother. He stood directly across from her and looked at her fully.

            “I’m in love with Nezumi. I’ve been for a while.”

            Karan looked at him in silence. She put down the pencil she’d been holding.

            Shion spread his hands flat over the counter. “I know it might not be what you want for me. I know it’s not ideal. I know the circumstances that we’re in. He might never be a free man. I know that. But Nezumi is not something I can make a pro and con list for. I don’t think of him as a compromise. I’m not ashamed of him.”

            Karan smiled a small smile. “I knew you loved that boy since you appeared on my doorstep with him bleeding out from two bullet holes in your arms, honey. I would never want you to be ashamed of him.”

            Shion narrowed his eyes. “Even though he took Safu, and so many other Gold District citizens? Even though he held me hostage?”

            “Well, I certainly don’t like those things about his past, but they are his past.”

            “But not everything can be forgiven. Just because something is in someone’s past doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter. He still did all of that,” Shion argued, and Karan tilted her head.

            “Do you want me to disapprove of him?”

            “No! I just – I want the truth,” Shion said, his hands curling on the counter.

            “The truth? As in, do I think Nezumi is a good person or a bad person? I don’t think he’s either. I think he’s been lost and angry for a long time, and I think he has a lot of things to regret in his life, and I believe that he does regret these things. If you want me to tell you he’s never done anything wrong, I can’t do that. He has. His freedom and the way he’s allowed to live his life are now restricted because of the choices he made.”

            “So it does upset you. That I want to be with him,” Shion said, needing a real answer from his mother, but she shook her head.

            “That doesn’t upset me, honey. I know Nezumi loves you. I know he wants to be a better person for you. I know he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to be good in your eyes. Your relationship with Nezumi has nothing to do with me. It’s not me he’s concerned with. It’s you that he’s scared is ashamed of him. It’s you that he worries doesn’t approve of him. It’s you that he needs to forgive him. It’s always been you, don’t you see that when he looks at you?”

            “But how do I convince him of that? He doesn’t listen to me, he just gets set in his own beliefs and refuses to trust me when I tell him what I feel,” Shion said helplessly.

            Karan tucked the strands of hair that had loosened from her bun behind her ear. “You know him better than I do. If anyone knows how to gain his trust, it would be you, Shion.”

            Shion wished he had as much confidence in himself as his mother did.

            He didn’t know how to make Nezumi trust him, let his guard down, stop worrying that Shion wasn’t happy where he was or that he’d regret being with Nezumi.

            Nezumi had spent so much of his life learning that trust was not something to be given away, and Shion was scared to take it from him when so much had been taken from Nezumi already.

*

When Shion climaxed, sometimes his mouth opened wide and his gasp was hot and fast and silent on Nezumi’s skin.

            Sometimes it was not silent, and Shion would make a sound that Nezumi wished he could bottle up or seal in an envelope like a letter or press inside a book that he might open whenever he wanted, read it off the page so that it rang in his head any time, all the time.

            Sometimes it was not just one sound, but a series, each thrust eliciting another until Nezumi was certain the soldier outside the door could hear, and he’d want to cup his hand over Shion’s mouth but more than that he’d want the series of sounds to be louder, magnify them, let them never end.

            Sometimes the sounds formed words, and sometimes in these words was Nezumi’s name, and sometimes Shion could not get every syllable of Nezumi’s name out his lips, sometimes just two syllables and sometimes just one and sometimes only the first letter, but Nezumi would know what Shion meant to say, and it would break him. He would feel himself breaking inside and not know what to do about it, he would want to get away from Shion because Shion was crushing him, killing him, doing something terrible to him, and Nezumi knew it every time he heard Shion say his name because it would hurt, something inside him hurt, he didn’t know what, he couldn’t bear it.

            Sometimes it hurt so badly Nezumi could not breathe. And he would freeze and Shion would stop saying his name and would touch Nezumi’s cheek and would lean in close and would kiss Nezumi, and sometimes Nezumi’s eyes burned, and sometimes Shion would tell him everything was all right.

            Sometimes Nezumi would believe him. But oftentimes, he would not.

            Everything did not feel all right. Everything felt incredible, so awfully incredible when Shion climaxed and got out only a single letter of Nezumi’s name, and Nezumi knew that was why it hurt so badly.

            Because soon the moment would be over. And Shion would have to leave. And Nezumi would be alone again, waiting again, thinking about the sounds Shion made when he climaxed again and wondering what sound it would be next time, if there would be a next time, what would happen when there wasn’t a next time.

*

The problem with trying to speak to Yumi without Nezumi around was that Yumi was stationed to watch Nezumi twenty-four-seven.

            The only time she was not in the room with them was at nights at Daichi’s when she slept outside the door, or when Shion dragged Nezumi to his childhood bedroom at the bakery, both occasions when Shion suspected Nezumi would notice his absence.

            Shion got his window when Nezumi was showering. Yumi stood guard outside the bathroom. Shion had just gotten to Daichi’s house.

            “He should be out soon,” Yumi said, when Shion got up the stairs.

            “I wanted to talk to you about something,” Shion said.

            Yumi held her gun, but she always did. It was her job. Shion understood that, and did not hold it against her.

            It was not her fault that Nezumi was a prisoner. It was Nezumi’s fault. Shion reminded himself of this periodically, because he often forgot.

            “What’s up?” Yumi asked.

            Shion bit the inside of his cheek. Released it. “What if I wanted to move in with him? Here. I don’t want to inconvenience Daichi in any way, and of course I’d ask him, but I have a feeling he’ll be all right with it.”

            Daichi seemed ecstatic that Shion had begun spending his nights with Nezumi. He seemed to enjoy talking about _true love_ and his apparent role in this _true love_ as the _matchmaker_. Shion didn’t mind, and Nezumi seemed to waver between finding it amusing and irritating depending on his mood that day.

            “Move in?” Yumi asked.

            Shion nodded. He’d been sleeping over in the room Nezumi had been assigned for three months. He had a plan. He would move in with Nezumi first. Then he would ask Yumi if they could move somewhere else. Out of Daichi’s house. Shion knew that his housing of Nezumi had been refused by the government officials, but that had been before, when fear of Nezumi was high. Now, certainly, it must have waned. And Yumi, of course, would come too, but soon it would be clear that Nezumi was not a threat to anyone, and an armed military presence was not necessary, and then Shion and Nezumi would simply be living together, would simply be living.

            “Shion, he’s a prisoner.”

            “I know that,” Shion said quickly.

            Yumi glanced at her watch. Knocked once on the door behind her. “Two minutes, Nezumi,” she called, then turned back to Shion. “If he was in jail, would you be allowed to move into his cell?”

            “There aren’t jails in the Gold District, and if he were in jail, I wouldn’t be allowed to sleep over, but you let me do that.”

            “And I shouldn’t. You’re trying to stretch your privilege, and it’s already been stretched enough.”

            “I’ve basically already moved in,” Shion insisted. He knew Yumi was reasonable. He knew Yumi was on Nezumi’s side.

            “Then you should be satisfied,” Yumi replied, before she knocked on the door again. “You need to finish up now.”

            “It hasn’t been two minutes,” Nezumi called.

            “Get out, Nezumi, let’s go,” Yumi said, her voice commanding in a way Shion had never heard it.

            “Yumi – ”

            “This is my job, Shion,” Yumi interrupted swiftly, her gaze hard now. “Allow me to do it, or I’ll have to request that you leave.”

            “And if I don’t leave, then what? You’ll shoot him?” Shion asked, not meaning to argue –  he liked Yumi, he didn’t want to fight with her, he needed her on his side, on Nezumi’s side.

            At the end of Shion’s question, the door opened, and Nezumi appeared with a towel around his waist, steam escaping the bathroom around his body.

            “I hope you’re not talking about shooting me,” he said, glancing at Yumi. “I certainly didn’t shower for that long.”

            “Get in your room, Nezumi,” Yumi said, and Nezumi raised his eyebrows, looked at Shion.

            “What did you say to her?”

            Shion pressed his lips together.

            “He asked to move in here, and I told him that was out of the question,” Yumi said, and Shion’s chest squeezed.

            He’d meant to tell Nezumi himself, once he’d gotten it cleared with Yumi and Daichi. He didn’t know how Nezumi would react to the idea, but he didn’t altogether expect it to be a good reaction.

            He knew Nezumi would need coaxing. A gentle nudge towards the idea before it was fully introduced to him. He was like an animal in the wild. Needed to be approached slowly, and never all at once.

            Nezumi didn’t say anything. He just looked at Shion, and Shion watched a drop of water drip from his hair down along the side of his face.

            “It was just an idea,” Shion said weakly, waiting for Nezumi to fight, but Nezumi just shrugged, his expression clear of anything Shion might have tried to read.

            “It’s out of the question,” he repeated, his voice even, and then he went to his bedroom and slammed the door.

            The sound was loud, and Shion’s heart jumped. Yumi was at the door in a second, pounding on it, holding her gun, always holding her gun, and Shion reminded himself that it was her job to do so.

            “Open up, Nezumi, you know the rules!”

            There was the sound of Nezumi’s curse from behind the door, and then it was swinging open, and Nezumi stood naked in the doorway.

            “Forgive me, I forgot,” he muttered, stalking back into the room.

            Shion followed Yumi into the room after him, watched Nezumi pull on boxers and sweats and lay shirtless on his bed.

            Shion walked around Yumi and sat on the edge of the bed beside Nezumi, who laid on his back.

            Nezumi raised his hand. Covered his eyes with it. “Shion, please just don’t.”

            “I wasn’t going to do anything.”        

            “You were going to try to talk about moving in here. Which is incredibly stupid and has already been vetoed. So don’t.”

            “It’s not stupid.”

            Nezumi moved his hand. His eyes were narrowed. “You’re doing it.”

            Shion crossed his arms over his chest. “You never have a problem with me sleeping over here every night. What difference does it make to you if I have my clothes here so I don’t have to go home to change? What difference is it if I have my phone charger plugged in your wall so it isn’t dead every morning? How would my moving here inconvenience you in any way?”

            Nezumi glared at the ceiling. “You’re still going on about it. It’s out of the question, right? That’s what was decided? And you’re still going on about it.”

            “I’m not going on about it.”

            Nezumi sat up abruptly, pushing himself up by his arms. “You are. This will never be enough for you. You want the whole thing, you want what you were promised as a Gold District citizen, you want what your friends have, what your family has, what everyone you know has, the big house and the dog and the granite countertops and the television and the tile floors and whatever the hell else you grew up with. You want everything, and I’m so goddamn tired of telling you I can’t give it to you. I’m sick of it. You’re a fucking nuisance, you know that? Asking to move in here – of course you can’t.”

            Shion stood up from the bed. “Just because you’ve given up on improving your life doesn’t mean I have to as well. I know I want a lot, but I fight for it too. I fought for you, Nezumi. Do you wish I’d given up on that? Do you wish I’d let you tell me to fuck off?”

            Nezumi pushed his fingers through his bangs and muttered something that sounded strongly like – _So goddamn annoying_ – under his breath.

            Shion exhaled hard. Shook his head. Ignored the heat prickling his eyes. “It’s not a one-way street. You have to fight for me too.”

            When Shion left the room, not looking at Yumi on his way out and slamming the door, he knew Nezumi could not follow him.

            He knew it, but he wanted it anyway.

            He wanted Nezumi to refuse to let him get out of his reach.

*

Nezumi was wiping down the counter, having just put the scones in the oven, when the soldier said, “Excuse me, customers can’t come back here.”

            Nezumi looked up to see that a man had walked into the kitchen. The soldier stood between them, but she was short, and the man who stood behind her was tall.

            Nezumi could see enough of him to know that he did not recognize him.

            “Sorry – Sorry, I know I shouldn’t be back here. The whole way over, I knew I shouldn’t – ” the man cut himself off. He had an unassuming presence. His voice was almost muted, an odd contrast to the soldier’s authority. He wore glasses, which he pushed up his nose while Nezumi looked at him.

            The man’s gaze slipped over the soldier. He looked at Nezumi, and Nezumi blinked back.

            Maybe this was a hostage he had taken. Maybe he’d taken the guy’s wife as a hostage. Maybe this was an assassination attempt.

            Nezumi almost smirked. The guy didn’t look like he could kill anyone. His cheeks were tinted pink. He looked almost terrified to have found himself here.

            “You should get going,” the soldier said, stepping forward, and the man stepped back.

            “I know,” he said, but he didn’t go. He just looked at Nezumi, and Nezumi looked back, wanted the man to say something to him, explain his presence, yell at Nezumi if that’s what he was there to do.

            Nezumi wanted to be yelled at. He wanted to yell back. He’d felt a whirring inside of him since Shion’s tantrum two days before. He hadn’t seen Shion since.

            He was so angry, and this man was as good a target as any. He’d walked right into the kitchen where he didn’t belong. The soldier had warned him.

            “Sir. Leave now,” the soldier said, as Nezumi stepped forward.

            The man pushed his glasses up again. Nezumi stopped walking forward.

            The man did not look angry. He looked sad, and then he turned and was gone, and Nezumi felt strange in the absence of him, a sort of gnawing in his stomach he could not explain.

            “That was odd,” the soldier said, looking at Nezumi, who shrugged, stepped back to the counter, made himself resume his cleaning.

            “He probably got lost,” Nezumi replied, even though that had clearly not been the case.

            “Did you know him?”

            Nezumi glanced at her. “How would I know him?”

            The soldier didn’t reply. She looked at Nezumi silently until Nezumi turned away from her, wiped the counter harder than he needed to.

            Dry flour didn’t stick, but Nezumi pretended it did. Scrubbed hard until his hand hurt and the timer went off for the scones and Nezumi went to the oven, opening it and considering just sticking his hands in, burning himself.

            He’d earn himself a trip to the hospital, but at least it would be somewhere not here, somewhere not Daichi’s house, somewhere else in his goddamn life that was limited to nowhere.

            It was bad enough that he was a prisoner. It was bad enough that his own freedom was restricted.

            What right did he have, to do that to anyone else?

            “Oven mitts!” the soldier shouted, just as Nezumi reached his hands in, and he flinched back, startled by the abruptness of her shout.

            He glanced behind his shoulder. Saw the soldier’s eyes wide with fear.

            He wanted to ask her why she cared if he got burned. It’d be nothing new.

            Nezumi didn’t ask her. He put on the oven mitts and took the scones from the oven. They were cooked just right, and Nezumi resisted the urge to throw them all in the trash.

*

Shion masturbated in his bed, where he hadn’t slept in months until the previous two nights.

            He didn’t take off his boxers at first. He pulled his comforter between his legs, bunched it up and moved slowly against it for several minutes, not in a rush. He let the pressure build, then slipped his hand in his boxers. He pushed his face in his pillow, his knees into the mattress. He moaned into the sheets he hadn’t changed in months because they were clean from his absence.

            He thought about Nezumi and bit his pillow case and a bit of the pillow beneath it to have something between his teeth. He moved his hand faster. He hadn’t turned his lights out because he hadn’t planned on masturbating, so he closed his eyes tight until his eyelids hurt.

            His toes clenched. He unearthed his face from the pillow, unclenching his jaw to do so, so that he could breathe. The light was bright against his closed eyelids without the pillow against them. The undersides of his eyelids glowed red, and Shion didn’t want that, pressed his face back into the pillow so that darkness returned.

            He tried saying Nezumi’s name, and it was so embarrassing he nearly stopped completely. He tried to put it past him. Forget the sound of his own voice that seemed to hover in his room still.

            He pushed every other sound he made deep into his pillow. He tried to imagine Nezumi’s hands in his hair, pulling it. Nezumi’s fingers on his skin, dragging against it. It felt impossible to climax without these sensations.

            Shion couldn’t pretend. He freed his face from the pillow. He was exhausted, sweating. He rolled onto his back. Opened his eyes and stared straight at his light and focused only on the feeling of his hand rubbing over himself. Tried taking off his boxers and continuing.

            It wouldn’t work. He sat up, looked around, found his phone on his nightstand and went to a porn site. Got distracted trying to find a video, realized he was trying to find a video with someone who looked like Nezumi, felt ashamed but at the same time had an idea.

            He typed _border area infiltrator_ into the search bar, and immediately, the video thumbnails all featured men who looked like Nezumi.

            Shion sat up, amazed. He forgot he was in the middle of masturbating. He scrolled through the videos, clicking on a few, disappointed in the ones where the man didn’t look enough like Nezumi, fascinated in the ones where the man did, but then, eventually, he would do something or make some gesture or facial expression that ruined the act, and Shion would frown, feel let down, exit out of the video and look for another.

            It wasn’t long before Shion found videos of men who looked like Nezumi with men who looked like himself. At the very least, they had white hair. One even had a scar drawn over him, and Shion almost laughed, tried to watch the video but it was awful, the Shion lookalike was dripping hot wax over the Nezumi lookalike, and Shion wanted to write a comment on the video, tell the makers that for as much effort they’d put in, it was terribly off-base, this was not something realistic at all, Nezumi would hate hot wax.

            Most of the videos involved the Shion lookalike in handcuffs. Sometimes it was the Nezumi lookalike in handcuffs. Shion hated the ones where the Shion lookalike begged on hands and knees for the Nezumi lookalike to fuck him. He hated the ones where the Shion lookalike called the Nezumi lookalike _Master_. He started to get angry at these people and their portrayals. How wrong they were. How little they understood. How small their minds were, that they’d put Nezumi and Shion into these roles that were not true, had never been true.

            Just because Shion had been Nezumi’s hostage for such a brief period of time didn’t mean any of this was accurate. It was wrong, these people who made these videos were wrong, they thought Nezumi was just a coldhearted border area villain, but what did they know?

            Nothing. They knew nothing. None of the videos with Shion and Nezumi lookalikes included soft porn. Included making love. Included the Nezumi lookalike tracing his fingertips over the Shion lookalike’s scar or the Nezumi lookalike kissing the underside of the Shion lookalike’s neck so softly their skin hardly touched. None of the videos included anything resembling emotions that were not dominance and mastery, submission and surrender.

            They were flat and contrived. They were hard, rough, forced fucks, and usually the Shion lookalike was crying by the end of them, and in one the Nezumi lookalike shoved his cock so hard and deep and over and over into the Shion lookalike’s mouth that the Shion lookalike started to vomit and the Nezumi lookalike laughed, and Shion threw his phone off his bed and breathed hard with his stomach turning.

            He pressed his palms to his eyes. He breathed deeply. He got off the bed and pulled on his boxers before picking up his phone and exiting the window and clearing his history three times.

            He was angry and shaking and it wasn’t the porn and he knew that.

            It was three nights without Nezumi. It was waiting for Nezumi to come to him when he knew Nezumi couldn’t. It was Yumi who always had her gun, and Shion knew it was her job, but he hated her for it anyway. It was the bedroom in Daichi’s house and Shion’s childhood bedroom above the bakery. It was the handcuffs Yumi had clipped to her belt to put on Nezumi every time he traveled to and from these places. It was Nezumi’s fifteen-minute shower allowance. It was fucking Nezumi at night and thinking he looked sad sometimes when he let his guard down, distracted by pleasure, forgetting to hide it.

            It was everything else.

*


	13. Chapter 13

Nezumi often dreamt of fire, but it was a fire that always took place in the southern border areas.

            He was usually in the library, running through shelves. Picking out books to save, not knowing how much more he would have to lose.

            Four nights since he’d fought with Shion and Shion had left, hadn’t returned, Nezumi dreamt of fire again.

            This time, it was in the Gold District. It was not everywhere, and it was not spreading. It was focused, and it was contained.

            It was the cherry blossom trees. Nezumi saw them out the window of the car the soldier drove, taking him from Daichi’s house to Karan’s bakery, taking him from Karan’s bakery to Daichi’s house.

            He would sit in the back, his wrists and ankles handcuffed, and he would look out the windows.   

            He’d never noticed the cherry blossom trees back when he used to break into the Gold District. He’d had to concentrate, focus, kidnap a citizen or two and get out. There hadn’t been time to look around.

            On his handcuffed commutes, Nezumi had time. He’d never seen a cherry blossom tree in his life, but he’d heard about them. His mother used to describe them, and Nezumi had wondered as a boy if they were just a myth. Flowers didn’t grow on trees. Not the trees in the border areas that were skeletal and thin and grew only leaves, though often their branches were naked year-round.

            Trees that grew flowers seemed like a story his mother made up, like the stories she would read to him at night from the books she’d let him pick out the shelves of her library. But here they were. Here they all were, cherry blossom trees absolutely everywhere, and when the wind blew, the flowers would fill the sky like rain, a storm of petals, lightning flashes of sunlight in the gaps between them.

            Nezumi did not often think of his mother, but on his commutes to and from the bakery, he couldn’t help it. He tried looking away from the window, staring only at the back of the seat in front of him, but it never worked.

            His gaze was drawn to the windows every time, and there were always cherry blossom trees outside no matter where they were on the drive.

            In Nezumi’s dream, he was not in a car. He was not handcuffed. He was free to go anywhere, do anything, but all around him were cherry blossom trees aflame, the pink of their petals darkening, charring, bite marks of soot gnashing through them.

            Nezumi could have run, but he did not. He stood very still and watched the cherry blossom trees burn, and when he woke, he did not know if it had been a dream or a nightmare, if he’d felt satisfaction or the deep, aching, terrible carve of loss.

            He turned to Shion, half-asleep still and wanting only Shion’s comfort, his body, his warmth, but the bed beside Nezumi was empty, and Nezumi’s arm fell on cool, bare sheets.

*

Shion went to the library for the first time since he’d broken up with the librarian.

            The librarian was there, behind the counter, helping someone with a book when Shion walked in so that he was able to sneak behind a shelf unnoticed.

            He didn’t pick out any books. He weaved through the shelves and let his fingers run along their spines. He walked through every aisle, even those where dust had collected on the spines. He caught that dust in the creases of his fingerprints.

            It was in the reference section, letters Ru-Ty, that Shion stopped because there was a soft call of his name.

            He turned, and the librarian stood behind him.

            Shion dropped his hand from the spine of a thick, blue-bound book.

            He didn’t mean to cry, but when he did, the librarian walked forward, hugged him with big arms and a large chest. He was an easy man to sink into. Nezumi did not hug like this. He did not embrace. He did not often comfort, but Shion forgave him for this.

            Nezumi had never been comforted. He’d suffered worse than Shion ever had. How was he to know when comfort was required?

            Nezumi could be kind, and Nezumi could be gentle, and Shion had seen these sides of him often. But he could be equally cruel, and equally cold, and Shion had seen these sides of him more.

            Shion did not love the librarian. But he loved the warmth of him, and the presence of him, and the naturalness of his embrace in the cool quiet of the library, in the hidden shelves of the reference section, letters Ru-Ty.

*

There was a window in Daichi’s bathroom.

            It was a small window, and it was high on the wall that hugged the shower.

            Nezumi did not undress. He turned on the shower spray. He had fifteen minutes.

            He reached up through the spray and pushed the glass of the window. It didn’t budge. He examined the sides of it. There were no locks or levers or anything he could see that might unlock it. He got into the shower so that he was no longer stretching through the spray, but standing in it. It soaked his clothes. He wasn’t wearing his boots, and his socks wet instantly.

            Nezumi ignored this. Pushed his bangs that had begun to plaster against his forehead off his skin. Squinted through the shower spray at the window and reached up again. He pushed again, harder. Tried to slide his fingernails under the edges of the glass. Stood back and looked up at the window while the spray of the water warmed over him.

            If Nezumi could even get it open, it would be a tight fit. He didn’t know if he could get his shoulders through it.

            He turned, looked around the bathroom, got out of the shower without turning it off and bent in front of the cabinet below the sink, rifling through it quickly, quietly, looking for something, anything.

            There was nothing but toilet paper, shampoo bottles, disinfectant wipes, a bottle of fragrance spray.

            Nezumi closed the cupboard. Stood and returned to the shower. His jeans stuck to his legs, his shirt to his body. He tapped the glass of the window lightly with his knuckles. The glass did not seem thick.

            Nezumi looked behind him. There was no lock on the door, and there was nothing to bar the door with. He glanced around him. The shower had no ledge, and the toilet was too far, so he had nothing to climb up on to hoist himself out of the window.

            It would not be a successful plan. Nezumi could see this easily. It would be better to have patience. Wait for a different opportunity. Not to act rashly, the way Shion did, Shion who followed his heart, reckless and idiotic, threw himself into things without thinking, with motives of desperation rather than reason, the way he’d broken into the compound the first time, the way he’d tried to escape Nezumi’s place when he was a hostage, the way he lived his entire life, his heart leaping out his throat, saying everything he thought and felt and not thinking about the consequences.

            Water weighed heavily on Nezumi’s clothing. His hair was soaked. He bent, picked up the shampoo bottom on the side of the shower, and held it tight. He raised his arm. He practiced twice, swinging his arm so that the bottle came close to the window, but didn’t quite touch it. Just to get the hang of it. The aim.

            He swung his arm back a third time. He took a deep breath. Drops of water slipped between his lips.

            He swung his arm forward fast. Hard. With all of his strength, and Nezumi was strong, and he worried the shampoo bottle would bounce right off the window, but it didn’t.

            It broke the glass. The sound was loud. Nezumi didn’t pause to listen to it, to worry about it. He ran the shampoo bottle quickly around the edges of the window, catching the shards of glass that stuck out from the edges of it. He didn’t get every shard but he didn’t have time for that because there was the soldier’s voice, sharp from outside the door –

            “Nezumi, what was that?”

            Nezumi dropped the shampoo bottle. He felt as if the water from the shower spray was coming down faster, harder, not a drizzle but a storm. He knew this was in his head. His hands were on the edges of the window, and there was pain as the glass still clinging to the edges of the ledge cut him, but it was simple pain, easy pain, pain Nezumi did not care about and hardly acknowledged more than he acknowledged the water warming his skin.

            “Nezumi!”

            The door opened as Nezumi pulled himself up. Glass dug harder into his skin. He had no leverage. Only the strength of his arms, but the other option was staying in the bathroom, getting shot by the soldier who always had her hand on a gun, even when she was kind, when she was humane, when she didn’t normally treat Nezumi like he was a prisoner.

            Her hand was still always on her gun, and Nezumi always noticed this.

            “Nezumi! Get down, now!”

            Nezumi’s shoulders fit through the window. There was a hand around his ankle, and he kicked back hard with his other leg, making contact with his socked heel on something solid, like a jaw, hearing the soldier’s curse and feeling the loosen of her hand on his ankle, and he pulled up, shoved himself through the window and felt the glass tugging through his wet clothing and dragging on his skin.

             “Don’t do this, Nezumi!”

            Nezumi was outside. The soldier kept shouting, and Nezumi stopped listening.

            He ran.

*

Shion heard his mother’s scream from the kitchen, and ran from the front of the bakery where he’d been helping a customer.

            He heard Nezumi’s voice before he made it to the doorway and saw him.

            “It’s okay,” Nezumi was saying, and then Shion was at the doorway, could see him, could see why his mother had screamed.

            Nezumi held his hands up defensively in front of him. They were covered in blood. Much of Nezumi appeared bloody. He was also very wet. Soaking.

            It was not raining outside. Shion knew this. The sun was sharp through the bakery windows, blinding him when he turned a certain way to address a customer.

            Karan’s hand was over her mouth, and she dropped it. “Oh, Nezumi, what’s happened to you?”

            “Nothing, I’m fine, Karan, please don’t worry, I don’t have much time, I need – ”

            Nezumi turned, cut off his own words. His gaze fell on Shion like lightning, and he looked at Shion the way he always did. The way that broke Shion’s heart. The way that healed it.

            He walked forward. Shion tried to make sense of him. This was not his shift at the bakery, which was why Shion was there. Nezumi had already had his shift for the day. It had ended hours before.

            Nezumi should have been at Daichi’s. He should not have been dripping wet. He should not have had blood on his hands, hands that reached out when Nezumi stood in front of Shion, hands that cupped Shion’s face, tilted it upward, hands that were warm and sticky, hot and wet.

            Nezumi did not kiss Shion. He tilted his head down, and Shion waited to be kissed, but he wasn’t.

            Nezumi’s forehead touched his. His hair was wet. Water that could not have been rain dripped from his skin and landed on Shion’s, a trickle on Shion’s cheek.

            Nezumi was breathing hard, like he was out of breath, like he’d been running, and Shion realized Yumi was not there, and he had so many questions but he didn’t ask any of them.

            He let Nezumi stain his skin with blood. He let Nezumi not kiss him. He let Nezumi breathe hard on his lips.

            He let Nezumi speak, when he finally did.

            “I hate when you’re gone,” Nezumi said, very quietly.

            Shion’s exhale shuddered on his lips. He forgot that Nezumi was wet. He forgot that Nezumi was bleeding. He forgot that Yumi wasn’t there when she was supposed to be. He forgot that Nezumi didn’t have a shift at the bakery right now.

            Nezumi had never told him, _I love you,_ but Shion didn’t see the use of such words when there were the words Nezumi gave him now.

            Nezumi pushed his forehead closer to Shion’s, a shift in the contact of their skin. “So don’t go. Okay?”

            Shion lost his breath and nodded. The water that soaked Nezumi dropped on him again. Rain that shouldn’t have existed, as if Nezumi had conjured the storm himself, as if inside him were the clouds and the thunder and the lightning and the thick, urgent undertows of wind. And the rain, so much of it that it couldn’t stay contained, that it dripped out of him, wet him from the inside out, soaked his clothing and hair and everywhere he touched Shion, tore gashes in Nezumi’s skin in order to escape from him faster, and that was why Nezumi was bleeding, that explained everything.

            Nezumi was not human, but a hurricane. Shion had fallen for a natural disaster. He would never withstand the damage Nezumi would do.

            He accepted this easily. Had already been swept away, and to resist anything more would be futile. Shion had no other choice than to be pulled and taken in and lost in the throes of Nezumi’s currents, and there was nowhere else he wanted to be.

*

Nezumi was calling Daichi on Shion’s phone when the soldier burst through the back door of the kitchen.

            Her gun was pointed at Nezumi, her finger on the trigger. Nezumi lifted his hands, hearing Daichi’s voice coming thinly through the phone that he still held.

            “I was calling Dai – ”

            “Don’t speak, Nezumi, I’m serious,” the soldier said.

            Nezumi shut up. There was a hardness to her features that he was not accustomed to.

            “Yumi – ” Shion started, and the soldier didn’t even look at him.

            “Stand back, Shion. Get against the wall.”

            “But – ”

            “Get against the wall!” the soldier shouted.

            Nezumi had not gone straight to the bakery after escaping Daichi’s bathroom. He’d gone first to Safu’s house before remembering that Shion had moved out. He didn’t know where Shion’s new apartment was, so he’d gone to the library next, because Shion liked the library.

            Shion hadn’t been in the library, but Nezumi had paused anyway, briefly distracted. The man who’d come into the bakery kitchen days before only to look at Nezumi and be ordered by the soldier to leave had been standing by a shelf. He was taking books from a cart beside him and putting them on the shelf, but he stopped, looked at Nezumi, dropped the book that’d been in his hand.

            Nezumi had turned and run out of the library. He didn’t have time to puzzle over why a librarian had come to the bakery days before. He’d escaped his imprisonment – temporarily, it was only ever going to be temporarily – to find Shion, and that was it.

            Nezumi had gone to the bakery next, not expecting to find Shion, but expecting to find Karan, who would know Shion’s apartment address. He had found her, eliciting her scream, which was understandable only when Nezumi realized he had a decent amount of blood on him.

            And then Shion had appeared in the doorway. And then the soldier had burst through the back door, the same door that Nezumi had burst through not five minutes before.

            “Yumi – ”

            “Do not say another word, Shion,” the soldier interrupted, still not looking at Shion, and Shion shut up.

            Nezumi did not think the soldier was going to kill him, but he wasn’t entirely certain of this either. He didn’t know what the soldier was capable of. He knew she was angry. He knew she’d been lenient on him, as a prisoner, much more so than any other soldier probably would have been. He knew he should have been grateful for that. He knew he had in some way betrayed her, but this had nothing to do with her, and it was only going to be temporarily, he’d called Daichi with full intents of getting in contact with the soldier and letting her know of his current whereabouts so she could collect him.

            He did not say any of this to the soldier, as she’d ordered him quite clearly not to say anything at all.

            The soldier did not say anything either. She stood and pointed her gun at Nezumi’s chest and was breathing hard, probably from running around looking for Nezumi. Nezumi was just regaining his own breath.

            The soldier didn’t say anything for what seemed like a full minute, longer. She caught her breath. She looked calmer, less enraged, but her gun did not waver, and her finger did not lift from the trigger.

            “I take my job very seriously. You know this, Nezumi. I told you this,” the soldier said, after her breath had been caught.

            Nezumi didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to.

            “I cannot forgive you for this. I cannot sweep this under the rug. I have to report this.”

            “Yumi, you can’t, he didn’t even do anything! He was just looking for me, he just came here, he’s allowed to come here, it’s just the bakery, the government won’t understand, you know that, they’ll think he was trying to escape, but you know he wasn’t. He was just calling Daichi to try to get in contact with you. The call is on my phone right now, in his hand, you can see for yourself,” Shion was saying.

            He never had been good at listening to people. He was terrible at shutting up when told to do so. Nezumi almost smiled at Shion’s familiar unruliness, but couldn’t manage it.

            The soldier did not move her gaze from Nezumi’s, as if she hadn’t heard Shion at all.

            “This is not a small offense. Do you understand that? You escaped your imprisonment. You broke the property of the citizen housing you. You assaulted the officer on duty.”

            It took Nezumi a moment to realize that she was speaking of his kick to her face.

            “What?” Shion was asking. “What assault?”

            “Whatever consequence there is, it’s not going to be my doing. You knew I’d have to report this. You knew I couldn’t let you get away with this. These are your actions, Nezumi, these are your decisions, I want to make that clear.”

            “Yumi, Yumi, just wait, he won’t do it again, it wasn’t – You know it wasn’t – He wasn’t going to run away! He wasn’t going to hurt anyone!”

            The soldier pulled her phone from her pocket with the hand not holding her gun. She looked away from Nezumi only to glance at her phone briefly, tap it a few times, and then it was at her ear and she was watching Nezumi again.

            Nezumi looked back. He hadn’t thought the soldier would call her superiors. He hadn’t thought at all.

            He’d been reckless and rash, he hadn’t bothered with logic, he hadn’t allowed himself to consider consequence. He’d been considering consequence his entire life, and he was still imprisoned. Where was the value in it?

            “Yeah, it’s Yumi. No, it’s not that, he’s currently secure, but he made an escape attempt and was out of observation for seventeen minutes. Yes. Yes. He – No – No, he did not – No citizens were – Yes, I am saying with complete certitude that no citizens were harmed – Yes – Yes, but – Yes. Fine. Karan’s Bakery, the station of his work release, the address should be in his file. All right. We will.”

            The soldier hung up her phone. Tucked it in her pocket. Looked at Nezumi again, and her gaze was less hard, less certain.

            Nezumi looked away from her. Down at his feet, his socks, wet and dirty from running outside.

            “What’s going on?” Shion asked, and this time, the soldier did not ignore him.

            “I’ve been told to hold Nezumi here until they come.”

            “Who comes? Who’s coming? They think he hurt someone – ”

            “I told them he didn’t.”

            “But they don’t believe you! They’re convinced he’s a threat that’s just gotten out, they’ll never believe you! What are they going to do to him?”

            “Shion.” Nezumi looked at Shion, who stared back at him.

            His eyes were wide. He looked terrified. There was blood on his cheeks, smeared by Nezumi’s cut palms.

            Nezumi wanted to touch him, but knew better than to move. “It’s going to be okay.”

            Shion’s eyes narrowed. “How can you say that?”

            “Your Majesty – ”

            “Don’t! Don’t call me that! Don’t try to placate me, don’t try to – ”

            “Get back against the wall!” the soldier shouted, and Shion froze, had taken two steps towards Nezumi and turned to the soldier.

            “What have you done?” he asked.

            “Stand against the wall. Now.”

            “How could you do this?” Shion shouted.

            “I didn’t do anything, Shion. These were Nezumi’s actions – ”

            “But you didn’t have to do this! They’ll punish him! They’ll – They’ll – I don’t know what they’ll do, but they won’t understand!”

            “This wasn’t what I wanted. I’m not happy to do this. I don’t have a choice,” the soldier said, and Nezumi glanced at her again.

            “You always have a choice,” Shion said, as if his words would matter.

            They didn’t. Soldiers arrived at Karan’s bakery not five minutes later. Shion was held back and Nezumi was handcuffed. He was dragged out of the kitchen from the back, as if that mattered, as if the customers at the front of the bakery hadn’t heard any commotion from the entrance of the Gold District’s armed military.

            Nezumi still was not wearing shoes. His socked feet scraped against the sidewalk when he was pulled outside.

            Shion ran out of the building, chased by officers. He was shouting something, but Nezumi could hear nothing but his pulse in his ears – loud, steady. He was not worried. He had always survived.

            Two soldiers caught Shion again, pulled him back again.

            “Stop fighting, Your Majesty,” Nezumi called, and then there was a hand on his head, pushing him down, and he was shoved into the back of a car.

            The door was slammed on him.

            Nezumi turned away from the window, and his soldier – Yumi – was in the front seat, looking back at him.

            Nezumi stared at her. “Get out. Stay with Shion. He’s making a fuss out there, don’t let the other soldiers do anything to him.”

            “Nezumi – ”

            “Stay with him!” Nezumi ordered, and the soldier looked at him a moment more, then nodded at the soldier driving the car and left.

            Another soldier got in the car a few seconds later, and then it was moving.

            Nezumi didn’t look out the window as he was driven away.

*

The announcement of Nezumi’s death sentence was on the news accompanied by a new photograph of him, his hair wet and lanky in clumps around his face, blood on his hands and clothing.

            He looked like the threat the news castors said he was. Uncontrollable. Uncontainable. Wild.

            Shion scrubbed Nezumi’s blood off his cheeks in the shower. The water turned pink as it swirled by his feet.

            The Gold District had never given a death sentence before. Unnatural death didn’t occur in the Gold District. It was the border areas that harbored violence.

            But Nezumi was an exception. He was not a Gold District citizen. He was from the border areas, and would be treated as such.

            When Shion dried himself after his shower, he looked at his towel so see that there was a stain of dark pink on it. He didn’t know where this blood had come from. He thought he’d washed it all off.

            The government’s decision was not met with unanimous support. Many groups grew in protest of Nezumi’s death sentence. Border area origin or not, Nezumi was now in the jurisdiction of the Gold District. A death sentence was inhumane. Unnecessary. Besides, he hadn’t harmed anyone on his escape. Imprisonment – yes. Death – no.

            Shion went back in the shower. He must have missed something. He scrubbed himself hard with his loufa. He turned the water hot so that it might melt anywhere blood may have dried on his body. He watched the skin of his fingertips wrinkle.

            Hostages and families of hostages spoke in interviews on the news. Many were relieved. Finally, the threat was gone. They no longer had to live in fear. Who knew what Nezumi might have done if he hadn’t been caught by the military when he was? What if he escaped again? Death was the only option.

            Other hostages fought for Nezumi, joined the ranks of the protesters, were the most valiant in their dissent. _We, out of anyone, should have a say in his fate,_ these hostages said. _He kidnapped us. We know the worst side of him, and we know even he does not deserve to be killed by the government._

            The shower spray soon began to turn cold. Shion turned the faucet all the way to the side of hot, but the temperature still dropped.

            Safu gave a statement as well. Shion watched her on television and thought she looked strong and beautiful as she spoke clearly into the camera. _A death sentence will be murder. Nezumi kidnapped Gold District citizens, he kidnapped me, but he tried to free us too. He has never murdered anyone, and if we allow a death sentence, we are committing a crime even the man we aim to kill has never considered. If we kill Nezumi, what sentence can we apply to ourselves in retribution equal to our crimes?_

            Shion turned off the water. Stood in the absence of it for a minute, another. Got out of the shower and dried himself again with a new towel, this time inspecting the towel carefully after he pulled it from his body. There were no stains of pink.

            Karan gave a statement against Nezumi’s new sentence as well, as his employer. Daichi protested as well, with tears in his eyes and sniffling until the news castor interviewing him offered him a tissue. Yumi was interviewed also. After her statement on the news, she was discharged from the military. She had said, _If I had known Nezumi would be given a death sentence, I would have let Nezumi escape while he had the chance. I am ashamed of this district, and ashamed of its people whom I have dedicated my life to protect from the crimes it now wishes to inflict on a fellow man._

            Shion dressed slowly, in the suit his mother had laid out for him on the bed in his childhood bedroom above the bakery. He walked downstairs to the flicker of lights from flashing cameras. He went to the front of the bakery that had been closed for the occasion, and sat at a table across from the reporter in charge of his interview.

            “Shion, your entanglement with the border area infiltrator has been unclear and murky and riddled with rumors of captivity and forbidden love from the very beginning. Tell us, what is your reaction to the announcement of the border area infiltrator’s death sentence?”

            There were cameras behind the reporter. Shion had been instructed not to look at these cameras. He was told to look only at the reporter, to act as if it was any other conversation.

            But it wasn’t any other conversation. And Shion wasn’t talking to the reporter. He was talking to the entire district, and so he looked straight at the main camera.

            “To you, Nezumi is just the border area infiltrator. To you, Nezumi’s life and my life are rumors and intrigue and news stories and gossip. To you, the death sentence is a controversial topic to discuss over dinner. You will never understand what it is, to me. I don’t want to talk to you about it. I don’t want to have this interview. I just want to talk to Nezumi, to see that he is okay, to ask if he’s scared and to tell him I’m scared too and let him lie to me and tell me not to worry.”

            Shion took a breath. His hair was still wet from his shower. A drop of water dripped on his cheek from a clump of it. Shion didn’t wipe it off, felt as it skittered down his skin.

             “To all of you in the Gold District, this is about morality and ethics, it’s about right and wrong, it’s about labeling Nezumi as good or bad and arguing over whether the label you apply should determine if he can live. You don’t realize that this is trivial, insignificant. You don’t know anything about him, and I find it incredibly pointless to even try to explain to you what I’m feeling or what my reaction is. If you cannot understand my revulsion that you discuss Nezumi’s life or death as if it is something you have the right to form an opinion on, then you will never understand the way I feel.”

            Shion stood up. He pulled at the first button of his shirt to free it because he felt as if he was being suffocated. He left the bakery, ignoring the calls of the reporter and the crew and his mother and Safu who stood to the side.

            It was sundown, and the sun had fallen to the position where it was brightest, blinding, making sure it was seen and remembered before it disappeared again for the night.

            Shion looked at it, then closed his eyes and watched the spots blink across his eyelids. When his eyes burned and watered, he was relieved to have an excuse.

*

Nezumi had been taken to the hospital to get stitches on his palms. His chest and waist and thighs had cuts from the glass of Daichi’s bathroom window as well, but they were not deep. They were cleaned and bandaged by a nurse, which Nezumi found unnecessary.

            He was sentenced to death, but still they treated his shallow wounds.

            After Nezumi received stitches, he was taken to one of the long-term hospital wards, accompanied by five military officers, simply because there was nowhere else to put him.

            It was past midnight when Nezumi fell asleep. He woke to a plate of toast with jam, held out by a man who watched him with wary red eyes.

            Nezumi sat up.

            “You should eat something. You didn’t have dinner last night, you must be hungry,” Shion said. He put the plate on the bedside table and took one of Nezumi’s hands in his, touched the bandage wrapped around his palm lightly.

            “They let you come in here?”

            Shion looked as if he hadn’t slept. His eyes were tired, the skin beneath them darkened, swollen.

            “They announced the date and method of your execution,” Shion said. He did not look at Nezumi, but at Nezumi’s hands in his.

            “Did you sleep?” Nezumi stole one of his hands from Shion’s loose grip. Tilted Shion’s chin up, wanted Shion to look at him.

            “It’s tomorrow. The head of the military is going to shoot you in the head. On the news they said it was the most instantaneous death. They pretended it was humane. They called it something else, they didn’t say they’d shoot you in the head, but I forget what they said, it was some transparent euphemism as if they could hide the fact that they’ll be shooting you.”

            “Shion.”

            “What do we do? You must have a plan, right? If not, we can think of one now,” Shion said, still not looking at Nezumi, his hands tightening around Nezumi’s hand that they still held.

            Shion’s fingers pushed against Nezumi’s stitches. It hurt, but it was a good pain.

            “Look at me for a second,” Nezumi insisted, moving his hand from the underside of Shion’s chin to the back of Shion’s neck, letting his fingers slip into Shion’s hair.

            Shion took a breath that shook. He looked up, finally, and met Nezumi’s gaze.

            “Do you trust me?” Nezumi asked.

            “Yes,” Shion whispered.

            “And if I tell you not to worry about this, will you still trust me?”

            “But – ”

            “Shion, you can’t try to interfere. You’re on thin ice with your government as it is, I need you to stay out of this.”

            “How can I – ”

            “I’m asking you to trust me. You said you did. Right?”

            Shion let go of Nezumi’s hand, backed away from him abruptly. “I lied. I don’t trust you. You’re trying to keep me from getting in trouble with the government at the expense of your life? How can you ask me that? How can I trust you after you’ve said that?”

            Nezumi pushed his bangs off his face. “This isn’t a negotiation. You need to stay out of this.”

            “You can’t tell me what to do,” Shion argued.

            Behind him were four military soldiers. Nezumi’s usual babysitter was not among them.

            “Where’s Yumi?” Nezumi asked, and Shion frowned.

            “She was discharged from the military. You didn’t hear?”

            The news was disappointing. Nezumi had intended to ask her to watch Shion, stop him from doing anything stupid.

            “Shit.”

            “You’re not going to die, Nezumi. You’re not. You can’t. You can’t just let it happen, you can’t just give up, I don’t understand you, you’ve survived everything, and now you just want to give up?” Shion was saying, words pouring out quickly, and Nezumi slid to the edge of the hospital bed, got off.

            A soldier had taken his handcuffs off when he’d arrived at the hospital, and they hadn’t been put back on. Nezumi was able to walk to Shion. To reach out to him, to hold his wrists, to pull Shion closer even when Shion shook his head, tried to pull away.

            Nezumi was stronger. Shion’s wrists were bony, thin beneath Nezumi’s bandages. There was a dull ache of pressure along his stitches from his own grip.

            He managed to pull Shion to his chest. He let go of Shion’s wrists only then, wound his arms around Shion’s body so that he couldn’t escape, and Shion did not fight him, fell into him instead, burrowed warm and solid in Nezumi’s chest.

            Nezumi tucked his forehead into Shion’s neck. Breathed Shion in. Held his breath, never planning on letting it go. He would keep Shion in his lungs so that he could take the man everywhere he went – even when he went far, far away.

            It was Shion who had said it. There was not only the Gold District and the border areas. There was somewhere outside of it, and Nezumi had never considered this outside before, but now he was not welcome anywhere else.

            Nezumi would take with him all of Shion that he could fit in his lungs and leave the rest of the man behind.

            “Don’t follow me,” he whispered, his lips so tightly against Shion’s skin that he knew there was no chance Shion could hear him.

            It was better this way. Nezumi didn’t want Shion to hear him.

            He wanted Shion to follow him everywhere he was forced to run.

*

There were no casualties from Nezumi’s escape, though four soldiers ended up in comas from the bullet wounds they sustained.

            Shion was sleeping when Nezumi escaped, though he didn’t remember falling asleep. He did not know how Nezumi escaped. No one did. Even the soldiers who’d been shot, after they woke from their comas, could not recall what had happened. There were search parties throughout all of the Gold District and helicopters that flew over the border areas for two weeks after Nezumi’s disappearance.

            There was no sign of him, and after a month, even the fear subsided.

            No one thought Nezumi would return. Shion, too, shared the sentiments of the rest of the Gold District, though opposed to relief, there was only hollowness inside of him.

            He got the letter on the fifth week after Nezumi’s disappearance.

            _Your Majesty,_

_Don’t wait for me. And I won’t send anything after this, so don’t wait for any more letters either._

_I’ll always want more of you, but that’s not so unfamiliar. Even when you were right beside me, I wanted more of you. It’s easier not to have you at all. I’m much more accustomed to not getting what I want. The familiarity of it is a strange and empty comfort._

_What’s that old saying? “Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all”? How absurd. I hope you’ve fallen for such a lie, you always did stubbornly believe in the stupidest optimisms._

_You’ll be fine now. Try not to miss me too much, you’re an ugly crier. And don’t worry, I’m sure the next person you love won’t be so foolish as to let anything take him away from you._

_Yours,_

_N_

            The note was written on a page from a book, torn out, one side with typed words and the other defaced in Nezumi’s terrible handwriting. Shion read both sides of the page. He didn’t know what book it was. It was none he’d ever read. Shion imagined Nezumi stealing into a library, plucking the nearest book off the nearest shelf, ripping out a random page without text on one side so he’d have space to write.

            There was no return address on the envelope. There were, however, two stamps, so Shion knew it was not hand-delivered, that Nezumi was not anywhere near.

            Shion read the letter until he had it memorized. He knew the point of the letter was to strip from him any hope, any expectation of Nezumi’s return, but the effect was not so dismal.

            It only served to warm Shion, to thaw his skin that had been numb, to race his heart that had been heavy.

            In particular, Shion liked to read the signature, the farewell right before it – _Yours._

            It seemed, to Shion, like a promise. A fact. Not only a past, but a future, and Shion easily ignored the bulk of the letter to believe only in this promise:

            _Yours,_

_N_

*


	14. Chapter 14

The first day on the boat, Nezumi got seasick. He spent hours vomiting over the edge into the dark laps of ocean, and when there was nothing left inside him, which didn’t take long, he dry-heaved.

            It took three days for the seasickness to wear off. When it subsided, Nezumi began to enjoy the saltiness that scraped his cheeks, the dark expanse of the ocean surrounding him.

            It was a small boat. A sailboat that Nezumi had stolen, cutting the ropes that held it to the docks with quick motions in the night when the sky was black and the ocean even more so, another color altogether, such an absence of light that it scared Nezumi, and he’d been hesitant to approach the edge of the small boat until daybreak.

            Nezumi did not know how to sail. He’d never seen the ocean until that point. He didn’t know if he was going in circles. He pulled the ropes that moved the sails in tentative tugs, trying to learn how the wind would hit them, trying to figure out how the current would nudge the rudder.

            It was useful that Nezumi had no destination. He was not going anywhere but away. It did not matter where the sea pulled him, so long as it was not from where he had come.

            There was a fishing rod and tackle box in the boat. Nezumi had never fished before. He cut his fingers attaching the rubber tackle to the fishing hook. He caught nothing for the first few days, which was fine with him, as he’d been seasick anyway. When the seasickness abated, his hunger grew. He caught one fish on the fourth day at sea and didn’t know what to do with it. He watched it flop on the floor of his boat for what seemed like fifteen minutes until it finally stilled. He picked it up and touched the scales. Examined the inside of its small mouth. The wide eyes without eyelids, glassy and thick.

            He didn’t feel so hungry anymore, and hooked it on his fishing hook, tossed it back into the sea. With it, he caught a much larger fish that nearly pulled him out of his boat as he tried to pull it in.

            He won the game of tug-of-war. This fish was the size of his arm. It flopped violently on the floor of the boat, and Nezumi stood to the side, wary that it would flop itself right out. He wanted to kill it quickly but had no weapons. He whacked it with his fishing rod and while doing so forgot to wrap the fishing line. The hook flew in an arch and dug into the top of his arm. He cursed, and the large fish kept flopping.

            It would not still for what seemed like an hour, but Nezumi felt his sense of time was probably off.

            There was one bottle of water in the boat. Nezumi sipped sparingly. He was incredibly thirsty and far from land.

            Nezumi had no means to cook his big fish, and ate it raw. He threw it up an hour later, the view of the side of the boat and his vomit splattering the ocean against it familiar by then.

            Nezumi knew how to survive, but his knowledge had been developed on land. He was unprepared and tired and thirsty. He liked it best at night, when he didn’t have to do anything but lie on his back and look at the stars and try to find one that looked familiar.

            On the day Nezumi saw land, he did not hesitate. He jumped out of the boat, not trusting his abilities to sail to it. He didn’t know how to swim, but he refused to drown.          

            He didn’t know if he was swimming back to where he’d come from. But by that time, he’d finished his single bottle of water and wouldn’t last much longer at sea.

            The longer he swam, the more Nezumi felt as if he would never reach land. He wondered if it was the ocean, pulling him away from it. If each stroke only took him farther. He’d already been exhausted and dehydrated, and he was tempted to still, to stop, to finally quit fighting.

            He didn’t quit. He made it to the shore, his limbs shaking from fatigue, and passed out with the sea lapping at his ankles, trying to pull him back in.

*

Shion was not trying to mark time with how long Nezumi had been gone.

            Seven weeks from Nezumi’s disappearance, Safu pointed it out to him while they baked in his mother’s bakery.

            “You’re still doing it,” she said.

            “Did I?” Shion asked, pausing with his measuring scoop in a bag of flour.

            “You just said ‘It’s been seven weeks’ all wistfully.”

            “I did not.”

            “Why would I make that up?”

            Shion sighed, finished collecting the flour and emptied the scoop in the mixing bowl in front of Safu. “I didn’t mean to. I don’t even notice it.”

            “That’s even worse,” Safu pointed out. She paused, then – “What about the librarian?”

            Shion put down the measuring scoop. “Safu.”

            “What?”

            “You need to drop that.”

            “I’m just saying. He really liked you.”

            “Yes, you’ve been saying that.”

            “Nezumi is not coming back.”

            “You’ve also been saying that,” Shion replied, peering into the mixing bowl, unable to remember if he’d added baking soda.

            “You’re hung up on that ‘Yours’ from his letter.”

            “No, I’m not.”

            “It doesn’t mean anything, Shion. The librarian would take care of you. You could be happy with him, if you really gave him a shot, not like last time when you were just thinking about Nezumi the entire time.”

            “Safu, stop with the librarian. Do you remember if I added baking soda?”

            “Yes, you just did before the flour. It still needs sugar. And there are other librarians.”

            Shion paused with his hand on the bag of sugar. “What is that supposed to mean?”

            Safu’s smile was light and secretive. “Nothing. There are many libraries in the Gold District, so there are many librarians.”

            Shion forgot that he was supposed to be adding sugar and gaped at his friend. “I’m not only interested in librarians.”

            “I have yet to see the proof of that. Nezumi was the child of two librarians, which is basically the same thing. You have a fetish.”

            Shion felt his jaw drop, and Safu laughed.

            “I do not!”

            “Everyone has fetishes, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. And there are much worse ones than librarians.”

            “I do not have a fetish for librarians.”

            Safu nudged Shion with her elbow and grinned. “You like their sexy glasses.”

            “Nezumi didn’t have glasses.”

            “You wish he did,” Safu said, waggling her eyebrows, and she looked so ridiculous Shion couldn’t help but laugh too.

            It felt good to laugh. It had been seven weeks since Nezumi was gone, and Shion knew he shouldn’t keep track of the time in this way, but he couldn’t help it.

            It did not feel like Wednesday. It did not feel like the end of September. It did not feel like the beginning of fall.

            It felt like seven weeks since Nezumi had been gone.

*

Nezumi slept in libraries.

            The people around him still spoke Japanese, so Nezumi assumed he’d either gone to some other part of the country or an island not far from the mainland. He was not in the Gold District, and he was not in the border areas, and he knew nothing else about the rest of the country.

            Nezumi knew, at some point, it would be best to get a job. He did not have any sort of documentation and knew he’d have to find something under the table.

            In the meantime, he traveled from library to library. He stole food as he used to in the border areas. He read books to pass the days and slept in the shelves to pass nights. The libraries were incredible, expansive, held more books than he knew had been written. He loved the quiet of them, the smell, the sound of flicking pages.

            At first, he did not read new books. He found Shakespeare’s plays in every library and other books that he knew, and he read those, craving their familiarity.

            It was in the fifth library that Nezumi picked out a book he’d never read before, never even heard of. He read it slowly and almost warily, and two pages in, he flipped to the back, read the last pages, not trusting this author he didn’t know, not trusting this story.

            His life had enough surprises, and Nezumi found he didn’t want anymore. He wanted to know what was coming. He wanted to be prepared. He was so tired of not knowing.

            He was so tired of nothing ending well, and while he was not so naive as to think his own life could have a happy ending, he thought that it might not be such a terrible thing to demand that at least his fiction did.

*

Shion started visiting all of the libraries in the Gold District.

            He did not set out with intentions to do this. He only wanted a book, and was avoiding his usual library, so he went to one farther away. 

            He found himself, while in this library, peeking at the librarian. It was a middle-aged woman, and Shion almost laughed at himself, relieved without knowing why.

            He found a book, checked it out, and when he finished, he went to a different library, thinking he just wanted to see a different selection.

            In this library, the librarian was a young man. He did not have glasses, but he was, Shion conceded, good looking – from an objective point of view, and only that. Shion walked between shelves, peeking at the librarian every time he turned into a new one. He found another book, and at the counter, the librarian stared at him.

            Shion wondered if he was imagining it until the librarian said – “But you’re that guy, aren’t you?”

            Shion blinked, and the librarian waved his hands nervously.

            “Sorry! I didn’t mean – It’s just – You know, everyone knows you. From the news.”

            Shion felt some relief that there wasn’t a club of librarians where he was a topic of discussion. “Oh. It’s okay.”

            “Sorry,” the librarian said again, scanning Shion’s card and then the book he’d found.

            “It’s fine, really.”

            The librarian didn’t say anything while the receipt printed, but he paused as he stuck it inside the book and glanced at Shion again. “I thought the death sentence was a little harsh. I just mean – no one deserves that.”

            Shion bit the inside of his cheek, released it. “Um, thanks.”

            “Yeah,” the librarian said.

            He slid the book across the counter, and Shion took it, walked away from the desk, glanced back near the exit to see the librarian staring at him.

            Shion felt hot and turned away again.

            Nine weeks had passed since Nezumi left.

*

There were computers in libraries.

            Nezumi noticed this after three weeks of sleeping in different libraries. He stopped at the edge of a shelf and stared. He hadn’t noticed this before. He wondered if it was just this library, or if all of the libraries had computers, and he simply hadn’t noticed, too consumed with the vast array of books.

            Nezumi’s parents’ library hadn’t had computers, but there were not many computers in all of the border area.

            Nezumi sat at a computer. The screen was on a page that showed a search for a book that someone else must have typed in. Nezumi was not interested in searching for a book.

            He clicked on the internet search bar and typed in his own name, thinking nothing would come of it, but when he pressed enter the page refreshed to one with articles about himself.

            Nezumi clicked on the first one – _Three months after the border area infiltrator’s disappearance, the search party for Nezumi has officially been disbanded._ He read only half the article, grew bored, went back and scrolled through the articles and found them all more or less along the same vein.

            He clicked on the search bar again, typed Shion’s name.

            There were articles on Shion too, all in relation to him, statements Shion made about Nezumi and mentions of Shion as Nezumi’s love interest, alleged accomplice, the one person who might know Nezumi’s current whereabouts despite Shion’s claims otherwise.

            Nezumi scrolled through the articles, reading their headlines and previews without clicking any, then returned to the top of the page and clicked the “Images” tab.

            Nezumi had not expected Shion’s picture to be online. He expected, if anything, his own, because Shion’s name was probably in articles that included Nezumi’s photograph.

            His chest squeezed abruptly and ridiculously at Shion’s face decorating the screen. Of course. Shion had been on the news. He was partially famous what with his involvement in stopping the war, his involvement with Nezumi – his photograph would have been taken. Nezumi didn’t know why he’d doubted it. He didn’t understand his surprise, the breath that left his lips, the pool of warmth filling him too quickly.

            Nezumi did not click on any of the pictures. He did not scroll to see more. He stared, shock settling and warming his skin, then exited out of the window.

            He stood up and turned from the computer and walked away from it and left the library, even though he’d intended to sleep there that night.

            He kept walking, but he wasn’t looking for another library. It might have computers in it, and Nezumi knew better than to chase the past.

*

There were twelve libraries in the Gold District, and soon Shion had been to all of them.

            Within them, however, there were more than one librarian. Shion began to make repeated visits at different days and different times to the different libraries, in this way catching different librarians at different shifts.

            He stopped checking out books. He stopped reading, finding himself unsatisfied with each imaginary world he tried to step foot in.

            None of them were realistic. Shion looked for books with terrible endings, without happy ever afters, but even those had too much happiness in the middle, and Shion couldn’t stand those parts.

            It was easier not to read at all. To go to libraries simply to look at the librarians. He admitted his new habit to Safu, who laughed at first, then asked if she could come with him.

            Behind the shelves, they frowned at each other when the librarians were old women. Safu nudged Shion when they were old men until Shion laughed, but it was the young men that they contemplated most deliberately.

            Shion had no interest in any of them, but it was a distraction to scrutinize them.

            He looked for flaws. If they smiled too much. If their hair was cut too short. If their eyes were not grey. If they were not guarded by an armed member of the military.

            No librarian passed Shion’s tests. He felt satisfaction in this.

            He didn’t have a librarian fetish after all. There was no one else for him after all.

            Shion pretended it felt good to be right. It had been six months since Nezumi disappeared.

*

Nezumi was approached about a job at a bar.

            There were many bars in the border areas, but Nezumi had never frequented them. They were packed with the worst of the border area inhabitants, a lot Nezumi had no desire to interact with.

            Nezumi went into this bar only because there was a _WE MIGHT GIVE YOU A JOB IF YOU ASK NAUGHTILY_ sign on the door of it. When he’d meant to ask the bartender about the sign, he’d instead asked for a double vodka.

            He’d drank two of these by the time the subject of the job came up, though Nezumi wasn’t the one to suggest it.

            “Want another?” the bartender asked.

            Nezumi shook his head. Weaved his fingers through his bangs. It’d been a while since he’d drank alcohol.

            The bartender was still looking at him. Nezumi did not know if the bartender was a boy or girl. Maybe neither, or both.

            Either way, the bartender was not too bad looking. Nezumi leaned back to return their stare until the bartender smiled.

            “You know, we’re hiring,” they said.

            “I saw.”

            “You’d be a good fit.”

            “I don’t have papers. It’d have to be under the table.”

            The bartender laughed. “Off the grid, huh? Sure, that can be arranged. I’m the manager.”

            The bartender extended their hand, and Nezumi leaned forward to shake it. Their skin was soft and slightly damp, but it wasn’t in an unpleasant way.

            The bar was hot. Nezumi was sweating too.

            “Bartend or bouncer?” Nezumi asked. It was a weekday, Tuesday, Nezumi thought, maybe Wednesday. The bar was not crowded, but Nezumi could imagine it easily could be.

            “Neither,” the bartender said, smiling again. “You know how to dance?”

            Nezumi squinted. He came from the border areas, where dancing often meant something else entirely.

            He didn’t know what it meant to this bartender.

            The bartender pointed to the other side of the bar. “On weekend afternoons and nights, those curtains open, and we’ve got poles.”

            Nezumi glanced at the other side of the wall, which was shielded by two purple curtains. “I’m not a dancer.”

            “Dancing really isn’t the important part. Have you ever taken off your clothes?”

            Nezumi looked back at the bartender.

            “I’m not interested.”

            The bartender leaned their elbows on the bar, looked at Nezumi closely. “We don’t have any back rooms. Stripping is the extent of it, nothing unsavory. You’re not in the border areas anymore.”

            Nezumi narrowed his eyes. The bartender’s lips twitched, like they were hiding another smile. They stopped leaning against the bar to collect the bottle of vodka and refill Nezumi’s glass.

            “We have the news here too, you know. What an honor to have a celebrity like you walk into my bar. Sounds like the beginning of a terrible joke. I’m thinking the punchline might bring the bar some publicity. What do you think? You help me out, I help you out.”

            Nezumi glanced at his filled glass. The bartender had poured more than a double.

            He reached out for it, lifted it to his lips, glanced at the bartender again before he downed it at once, focusing on the burn it pulled through his throat.

            When he put the empty glass back down, the bartender smiled and poured him another.

*

Safu convinced Shion to go to the bar with her.

            “You don’t like bars,” Shion reminded her, while they found seats at the counter, the last two seats available.

            It was Friday night and packed.

            “Sure, I do,” Safu replied, waving at the bartender, who came over and smiled wide at her.

            “Hello, beautiful.”

            “Can I get two vodka sodas?”

            “You got it.”

            Shion waited until they got the drinks and the bartender went to another customer before grabbing Safu’s sleeve. “He liked you.”

            Safu laughed. “Of course he didn’t. Don’t be silly, Shion. And we’re not here for me.”

            “We’re definitely not here for me,” Shion said, retracting his hand from Safu’s sleeve.

            Safu sipped her drink from a straw and said nothing.

            In a half hour, Shion was drunk. He pulled Safu onto the floor with him, and they danced to loud, fast-beat songs Shion didn’t know.     

            He decided he loved all of them. He stopped dancing only to get more drinks, and soon was dancing again.

            He felt so incredibly good, light and heavy all at once.

            He forgot how long it’d been, since Nezumi left.

*

Staying in one place had a significant consequence – Nezumi was frequently recognized.

            He quickly learned that this was not a bad thing. When people recognized Nezumi, they acted as if he was a movie star. They seemed to find some thrill in being in his presence. They did not act as if he was a criminal. They acted as if he was a hero, they ordered him drinks and cheered to his life, his escape from death.

            Nezumi was most often recognized in the bar, where drinks could be ordered and cheers could be made. He began to drink more frequently, simply because drinks were being given to him, and he didn’t see the sense in turning down these tokens of affection from his loving fans.

            The people who recognized Nezumi acted as if they knew him. As if they had a reason to celebrate his avoidance of the Gold District’s death sentence.

            Nezumi played along. He didn’t love attention, but he had to admit, it was better than being universally hated, and for the most part, Nezumi was too plastered to care at all.

*

A year after Nezumi disappeared, he was found.

            An anonymous call was made to the Gold District from a town on the shoreline of a small island just off mainland Japan.

            Gold District jurisdiction did not extend to this small town, and no action could be taken to collect Nezumi. On the news, the only information given was that the anonymous call had been verified, Nezumi’s presence on this island confirmed.

            They also gave the name of the island, and the name of the small town on the shoreline.

            “You have to realize this is a bad idea,” Safu said, while Shion packed.

            “My flight leaves in two hours, I don’t have time for this.”

            “So what if you find him? What happens then?”

            “I don’t know. I’ll figure it out at that point.”

            “It’s been a year.”

            “I know that.”

            “He could be – Shion, he could – I just don’t want you to get your hopes up. I don’t want you to go out there and find him and get hurt.”

            “Thank you for your concern. Please move so I can get my toothbrush.”

            Safu moved from where she’d been standing by the door, and Shion left his room to go to the bathroom, where Safu followed him.

            “I didn’t want to say it, but – What if he’s with someone else?”

            Shion grabbed his toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, his razor, and looked around his bathroom for other items he might need.

            “Shion. Are you listening to me?”      

            Shion sighed and looked at his best friend. “Safu, I can’t just not go. You must know that everything you’re saying is futile. You have to know you can’t convince me out of this.”

            Safu threw her hands in the air. “I’m trying to stop you from doing something you’ll regret!”

            “If I don’t go, I’ll regret it more than anything. If I don’t ever see him again, I’ll regret it every moment of my life. I know it’s been a year. I know that’s a long time. That’s why I have to see him now that I’ve got the chance.”

            Safu didn’t reply. In another ten minutes, Shion had finished packing, and Safu drove him to the airport, walked him to the security line.

            “Be careful,” she said, after hugging Shion, who had his boarding pass and Gold District I.D. in one hand and pulled his duffel bag over his shoulder with the other.

            “Love you, I’ll call you when I get in.”

            Safu waved, and Shion was next in line, handed his boarding pass and I.D. to the security officer, who looked at them for a moment, then looked up at Shion, then looked back down at the boarding pass, and again at Shion.

            Shion didn’t care if the security officer was putting together Shion’s somewhat famous identity in the Gold District with his intended destination and the biggest story currently on the news.

            It had been a year since Nezumi was gone, and Shion only cared about finding him.

*

Nezumi was spectacularly drunk.

            Drunker than he’d ever been, which he knew because there was a guy with white hair and red eyes and a scar he recognized too well standing in front of him.

            Nezumi tightened his hand around the pole beside him as he leaned forward to look more closely at the fantastic illusion standing at the edge of the stage.

            He reached out. Touched the illusion’s cheek with the very tips of his fingers.

            He was allowed to touch the patrons, even though they weren’t allowed to touch him.

            “Incredible,” he whispered. The illusion’s skin was warm and soft and very human. Not at all like an illusion, which Nezumi had anticipated to have no feeling at all.

            “Nezumi,” the illusion said. He had the same voice Nezumi knew so well. A perfect illusion. His lips moved the same way, and Nezumi wondered what would happen if he tried to kiss the illusion. 

            The patrons were not allowed to try to kiss Nezumi, but Nezumi was allowed to do whatever he wanted, if he wanted it, and he wanted this.

            He wanted the illusion badly.

            Nezumi also wanted another drink. He had learned to dance while drunk, a necessity of his occupation. He could dance while blacked out, which he’d done often. It wasn’t really dancing, anyway. It was just taking off his clothes while holding onto a pole, which was a relatively simple task, sober or otherwise.

            Currently, Nezumi was out of clothes to take off. He wore only the booty shorts his manager had given him several pairs of, along with thongs – the job uniform. The current pair was silver and sequined, a crowd favorite that Nezumi saved for weekends.

            It was late in the night. The music was loud, shook Nezumi’s pulse. He liked it best this way, deafening and in his head.

            Nezumi still had one hand on the pole, but his arm was fully extended. He was as close to the edge of the stage that he could get without falling off of it. He leaned over the edge.

            The illusion was incredibly close. Kissably close.

            Nezumi smiled at him. Smiles got him more money and more drinks. He wondered what the illusion would give him for a smile.

            The illusion stared at his lips. Nezumi was used to this. Didn’t mind it so much now. Rarely minded it, was usually too drunk to mind it. He came to work drunk. He got drunker throughout the night. He left plastered and woke up late. A month after he started working at the bar, the manager changed dance nights from just weekends to every night. They were always packed.

            Nezumi was glad for it. Never had a night off and never wanted one.

            “Do you want to kiss me?” Nezumi asked the illusion.

            The patrons often wanted to kiss him. They told him this, and Nezumi smiled at them, and they slipped money in his waistband and bought him drinks.

            They weren’t allowed to kiss Nezumi unless Nezumi kissed them first. The manager had put up signs informing the patrons of these rules six weeks after Nezumi started working there. The manager had also hired another bouncer, who stood by the stage beside Nezumi’s pole. With the bouncer, Nezumi didn’t have to hit anybody anymore. The bouncer did it for him, and Nezumi was able to keep dancing while the patrons who didn’t obey the signs were dragged away, beaten in the alleyway beside the bar if they were particularly unruly.

            The illusion looked from Nezumi’s lips back to his eyes. Nezumi would kiss the illusion first so that the illusion was allowed to kiss him back without getting beat up in the alleyway by the bouncer. Nezumi didn’t want the illusion to get hurt. He didn’t want anyone to touch the illusion but himself.

            “I want to take you out of here,” the illusion finally said. His eyes were wide. Incredibly red. Amazing. Nezumi used to know eyes like these. Used to look into them all the time. Used to wake up with these eyes watching him, soft in the new sunlight, lazy and crinkled from an early morning smile.

            The patrons wanted to take Nezumi out of here too. They were allowed to do this, but only after Nezumi’s shift. The manager could not do anything about it because Nezumi was no longer on the clock at this point, and so Nezumi was on his own, did not have the bouncer to beat anybody up.

            He was usually absurdly drunk by this point in the night, which was really an odd hour of the morning. He’d gotten an apartment right beside the bar because it was most convenient, and he had to walk the least amount of steps to get there.

            It was convenient for patrons, too, who usually were drunk as well.

            “Okay,” Nezumi told the illusion. “You can do that.”

            “Now?” the illusion asked. He didn’t look like the other patrons, who had sly smiles and flickering eyes, gazes that slipped up and down Nezumi’s body.

            The illusion looked only at Nezumi’s face. His eyes were very wide and focused. He did not look like he wanted anything, the way the other patrons did.

            No, that was wrong. The illusion wanted something, but Nezumi didn’t know what it was, and he always knew what the patrons wanted.

            They always wanted the same thing.

            “I can’t yet,” Nezumi told the illusion. “What time is it?”

            Nezumi had learned to speak without slurring when he was drunk. He could do a lot of things when he was drunk.

            The illusion took his phone from his pocket. Looked at it. Looked back at Nezumi, but not at his body, just at his face. “It’s just past one in the morning.”

            “What day is it?”

            “It’s Saturday night. Sunday morning, I guess.”

            “I have to stay until four.”

            “Nezumi – ”

            “Then you can take me anywhere,” Nezumi told the illusion, who had a crease between his eyes, a crease that was familiar, a crease Nezumi had seen before.

            The illusion stared at him. He didn’t look hopeful, like the other patrons. He looked sad, and Nezumi wanted to tell him he had no reason to be, Nezumi would not break his promise, Nezumi would go anywhere the illusion wanted him to go, he was not lying for money or drinks, he was not lying for business, he was telling the truth.

            “I promise,” Nezumi said, hoping the illusion might smile, thinking he had a feeling of what the illusion’s smile might look like, thinking he wouldn’t mind seeing it again, thinking it’d been a long, long time since he’d seen it, had it pressed to the skin of his neck, to the top of his shoulder, to the inside of his thigh, to his own lips.

            The illusion did not smile. He looked at Nezumi while the music got louder. Nezumi was not supposed to spend a lot of time on one single patron.

            He was there for everyone.

            “Wait for me,” Nezumi told the illusion, and he didn’t let the illusion respond, didn’t give the illusion a chance to refuse.

            The patrons never refused to wait for Nezumi. They waited for Nezumi even when Nezumi didn’t want to be waited for. But the illusion was not like the other patrons.

            Nezumi didn’t know what he might do. There was the chance he could disappear completely.

            Nezumi wished he was even drunker. If the illusion disappeared, he didn’t want to notice at all.

*

The music was too loud.

            Shion didn’t stay by the stage. He left the bar to breathe. The outside air was cool on the sweat of his skin, and Shion waited until he was shivering to return into the thick heat of the bar.

            He sat at the bar, and soon the bartender was in front of him, flashing him a smile.

            “Well, look who it is,” they said.

            Shion was not surprised to be recognized.

            “Your man’s not done till four. You’ve got time to kill. How about a drink?” the bartender asked.

            “Water is fine.”

            “May I suggest the alcohol? It’s our biggest seller,” the bartender said. Their smile was friendly.

            “No, thank you.”

            “What if I gave you Nezumi’s favorite drink? You could take it up to him, he’s allowed to accept drinks. He likes them.”

            Shion felt his skin heat up. He knew, of course, that Nezumi was incredibly intoxicated. His eyes had been glassy and bloodshot, and his breath reeked when he’d spoken hardly an inch from Shion’s lips. He’d been slurring, but he wasn’t incoherent.

            He was very coherent. Shion had understood every word. Knew from what Nezumi said that Nezumi was plastered, did not recognize who Shion was, was under the impression Shion was just another guy at the bar he wanted to go home with.

            Shion was trying not to think about this. The bartender was not helping.

            “Isn’t it a liability to let someone give him drinks? What if they drugged him?” Shion demanded. He was angry, and he let it be at the bartender just to get some of it out of him.

            “I’ve got eyes everywhere, watching just for that. We make sure to keep him safe, don’t worry.”

            Shion was not reassured. He didn’t think the bartender gave a damn about Nezumi.

            Shion realized his hands were shaking. He curled them into fists and tried to steady them.

            “Here, it’s on the house. For you, not him. You look like you could use a drink. It’ll help. Calm you down a little.”           

             The bartender had filled a glass with clear liquid, slid it across the counter, but Shion didn’t touch it.

            “No, thanks.”

            The bartender glanced at Shion, then away from him, across the bar where Shion knew Nezumi was dancing, though he preferred not to look at him.

            “I’m not just the bartender, you know. I’m the manager of this bar, and the employees are my responsibility. On the nights I don’t trust Nezumi to make his own decisions – most nights, really – I’ve got a bouncer who follows him home, makes sure the creeps who look particularly malicious stay away. Nezumi doesn’t know. He’s too drunk to know anything. I suspect that’s probably the point.”

            The bartender was looking at Shion again.

            “You really should have a drink. Or get out of here and come back at four. It’s going to be a long two and a half hours if you don’t.”

            When Shion had stood by the stage, he heard the things the other people around him were saying to Nezumi. He didn’t think Nezumi noticed – was too drunk to notice anything – but Shion had heard everything.

            His blood pumped hot against the underside of his skin. He felt itchy and angry and didn’t want to let Nezumi out of his sight, but he couldn’t stand to look at him.

            “You know what, I have a better idea,” the bartender said, and then they walked away from Shion, who stared at their absence, then at the glass still left in front of him on the counter.

            He looked at it, but didn’t touch it. There were signs that said this all over the bar.

            _We Know Our Dancers are as Beautiful as Paintings at a Museum. Like any Artwork, Look, Don’t Touch._

_Seriously, Don’t Touch the Dancers._

_Buy Our Dancers Drinks! Do Not Touch Them!_

_Do Not Climb on the Stage._

_Do Not Touch the Dancers._

_Respect the Dancers._

_We’ll Beat the Shit out of You if You Touch the Dancers._

_Nezumi likes Double Vodkas, No Ice. Miiko likes Apple Martinis. Chiyo likes Mojitos. Katsuko likes Gin and Tonics. Haruki likes Manhattans. Rie likes Tequila Shots. None of our Dancers like to be Touched._

Shion read the signs plastered behind the bar until the bartender returned, this time sliding a key across the counter.

            “His apartment is the building next door, number six. Why don’t you wait there until he’s done?”

            “You just give anyone the keys to Nezumi’s apartment?” Shion asked, staring at the key on the counter.

            The bartender laughed. “You really don’t think much of me, huh? No, I do not give anyone the keys to Nezumi’s apartment. You, Shion, are an exception, you must know that. All of Japan certainly does. Take it if you want, hang out there for the next two hours, and come back at four. Or you can stay here and keep refusing to drink anything or look at the stage, which tend to be the bar’s main points of interest. That’s fine.”

            Shion looked from the bartender to the key, then reached out, took it. It was cool, and he held it tight, the small points of contact a brief relief from the heat that coated the rest of his skin, hung thick and heavy in the air of the bar.

            “I’ll come back at four,” he said, looking at the bartender again.

            The bartender nodded, hooked their thumb over their shoulder. “It’s that way, make a left when you get out the bar, walk five steps, and the red door is the apartment building. There’s a keypad, but that hasn’t worked in years. Let yourself in, and his place is on the first floor.”

            “Number six,” Shion said.

            “You got it.”

            Shion considered asking the bartender if they’d ever been in Nezumi’s apartment. They were young, around Shion and Nezumi’s age, Shion would have guessed they were maybe two or three years older. They were good looking, Shion thought, not the kind of good looking that Nezumi was, the kind that had every person in the bar crowding the stage around Nezumi, but a more expected sort of good looking. A good looking that wasn’t incredible and beautiful and breathtaking, but a warm good looking all the same.

            Shion decided not to ask. “Thank you,” he said, and then he left the bar, taking a left after he was out in the cool air as instructed and walking five steps.

            He didn’t need to count his steps. He could see the red door from the exit of the bar and the broken keypad beside it. He let himself in, walked down a hall in which he could hear the music from the bar clearly.

            Nezumi’s door had a large number six drawn on it in marker. Shion looked at the peeling black paint that revealed a light wood beneath it, then stuck the key in the lock and opened the door.

            The apartment smelled musky, and the air hung thick within it as it had in the bar. Shion closed the door behind him reluctantly and was immediately encased in dark. He slid his hand along the wall until he touched a light switch, but when he flicked it on, nothing happened.

            Shion got out his phone and used the flashlight. There was a lamp in the corner, and Shion made his way to it, was relieved that it actually turned on when he twisted the switch.

            He turned off his phone flashlight. The light from the lamp was dim and shallow. Nezumi’s apartment was bare. It seemed to be entirely one room, though there was a doorway on the opposite wall that Shion assumed was the bathroom.

            The main room where Shion stood had a mattress without a fitted sheet, a dark blue blanket bunched on one end of it, a pillow on the other. There were small piles of clothing beside it. Against the wall was a small table, and Shion walked over to it, examined the items on it: an open box of crackers, an empty reusable water bottle, two bruised bananas, an electric tea kettle that was plugged into the wall, an empty coffee mug, several packs of ramen noodles – beef flavor, and a bottle of vodka with hardly an inch of liquid at the bottom.

            There were also envelopes, and Shion picked one up. There was nothing written on it, and he opened the flap that wasn’t sealed, took out a scrap of paper from inside that just said – _August, week three, paid_ – followed by two signatures, one of which Shion was able to make out as Nezumi’s name.

            Shion put the envelope back amongst the others. Looked around the apartment and listened to the pounding music from the building next door, nearly as loud in Nezumi’s apartment as it had been in the bar.

            There were no books in the apartment, and Shion struggled to picture Nezumi living in it.

            He supposed, after he thought about it, that Nezumi wasn’t living there at all. He was just surviving, and he’d always been good at that.

*

The lights in the bar flickered, and fifteen minutes later, the bar was empty but for its employees, who gradually streamed out as well.

            Nezumi pulled on his clothing slowly. He pushed his hair off his face and pulled it into a messy bun, getting his finger caught in his hairband, pulling it free, half his hair coming free along with it.

            Nezumi didn’t care. He pushes his fingers into his eyes. He couldn’t remember if he’d told a patron to wait for him outside or not, but he hoped not. He felt too tired to fuck anyone.

            “Nezumi.”

            Nezumi glanced at his manager, who still stood behind the bar. Nezumi made his way to the counter, leaned against it. “Drink for the walk home?” he asked, smiling the way he knew was seductive, and the manager smiled back.

            “Not tonight. You have a visitor.”

            “Mmm,” Nezumi hummed. “Cute?”

            Nezumi must have told someone he’d go home with them. He couldn’t remember. He didn’t remember anything from an hour before, or the hours before that.

            It was why he drank. He liked to forget. There was nothing worth remembering anyway, it felt useless to have all of the time that kept piling up in his head.

            Nezumi’s manager leaned across the counter. “Very cute.”

            “You can take ‘em. I’m tired,” Nezumi offered, and his manager laughed.

            “Thanks, but not tonight. This one’s all yours.” His manager pointed, and Nezumi followed their finger slowly, feeling bleary and heavy, wanting only to sleep or have another drink and then sleep. He couldn’t remember if he had any vodka left at home or if he’d finished his bottle before coming to work.

            At the end of the counter stood Shion.

            At least, a man who looked very much like Shion. Probably not Shion, Nezumi reasoned. He was not that drunk, surely, to fool himself like that.

            “Very funny,” he said to his manager even though he didn’t take his eyes off this Shion-lookalike – the guy did a damn good job, looking like Shion. Had the same face and everything.

            “Not a joke. Come on, let’s get you out of here, I need to lock up and go the fuck home,” Nezumi’s manager said, and Nezumi let his manager pull him by the arm.

            They passed the Shion-lookalike, who followed them, Nezumi saw, because he turned his head to watch.

            “I’m impressed,” Nezumi told the lookalike, once they were outside, his manager locking the door.

            “If you’re taking off tomorrow, come over and tell me an hour before your shift so I can get Rie to cover you, all right?” Nezumi’s manager said, while the Shion-lookalike said nothing.

            Nezumi peered closely at him. His lips were just like Shion’s. His eyes were just like Shion’s. His eyelashes were white, and Nezumi was amazed by the effort, this guy actually went and bleached his eyelashes. For that, Nezumi felt he could at least blow the guy.

            “You good?” Nezumi’s manager asked, and Nezumi didn’t get a chance to answer before the lookalike did.

            “Yeah,” the lookalike said, very quietly, and he somehow had Shion’s voice, which Nezumi couldn’t figure out.

            Drunk, he remembered. He was very drunk. The lookalike’s actual voice was probably nothing like Shion’s.

            “Have a good night, you two,” Nezumi’s manager said.

            “I can stay at a hotel,” the lookalike said, after Nezumi had stared at him for a good minute or two.

            Someone had slipped something in a drink they’d then given Nezumi. The bouncers were usually good with spotting it, but this guy had been a pro. That had to be it. Nezumi was completely drugged out, and the lookalike was just the product of that.

            “You can do whatever you want,” Nezumi told the lookalike. He leaned closer to him. Tried to see the edges of contacts in the lookalike’s eyes. No way they were red. Not this shade of red, this exact shade, this exact color. Had to be contacts.

            The lookalike leaned back. “Nezumi,” he said, and Nezumi felt his mouth go dry.

            “Fuck.” The lookalike was good. Nezumi would do anything for him to say his name again. Just like that. The way Shion had always said it, the exact way – Nezumi didn’t care if it was drugs. He didn’t care if the lookalike really looked nothing like Shion, he didn’t care if he’d wake up in the morning and see that too clearly in sobriety.

            Right now, Nezumi wanted to fuck this man just to hear him moan his name, certain it would sound the same as Shion used to – how was he doing that?

            “Are you okay?” the lookalike asked.

            His concern was just like Shion’s. Everything was just like Shion. Nezumi hated him. Didn’t want the man near him.

            “No,” Nezumi said. He couldn’t get his voice out. Felt his lips move, but there wasn’t sound. His throat was tight. It hurt to swallow.

            The lookalike kept looking at him. Nezumi wanted to look away. He couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything but want the man he looked like and ache with it.

            “Come, let’s go home,” the lookalike said, and he held out his hand, and Nezumi stared at it, took it warily, and it felt like Shion’s palm, and Nezumi hated this and loved it. He followed the lookalike, wondering where they were going, where home was, what that even meant, Nezumi didn’t have a home anymore and couldn’t remember the last time he did.

            The lookalike took Nezumi to the shitty apartment he lived in beside the bar. Nezumi didn’t tell the lookalike this was not a home because the lookalike was a stranger, and Nezumi didn’t need to tell him anything.

            “I don’t have to stay here if you don’t want me to,” the lookalike said, when they were inside Nezumi’s apartment.

            “I don’t care,” Nezumi said. This was a lie. He did care. He wanted the lookalike to stay and he wanted the lookalike to get the hell away from him and he didn’t know what want was stronger, what want was squeezing his chest so tightly, what want was hurting so badly.

            Nezumi went to the bathroom without waiting to see what the lookalike would do. He stripped, and it wasn’t the way he stripped at the bar, slow and seductively. He stripped roughly, tearing his clothing off his skin, getting in the shower before the water turned hot because the water never turned hot.

            He took a quick shower, just wanted the smell of the bar off of him even though his apartment smelled just the same. He got out and wondered if the lookalike was still in his apartment, or maybe there was no lookalike at all, Nezumi couldn’t remember, thought he’d imagined all of it, everything, sometimes Nezumi was so drunk he convinced himself he’d imagined his whole life, none of his memories were real, there was nothing to hold on to and nothing to forget, and it was easier that way so Nezumi drank more and more so this easiness would never fade.

            Outside the bathroom, the lookalike sat on the edge of Nezumi’s mattress looking at his phone. He looked up when Nezumi appeared.

            Nezumi sat beside the lookalike without putting on any clothes.

            “We can have sex if you want,” Nezumi offered. He would let the lookalike decide because he didn’t know what he wanted. He didn’t know what would hurt less.

            The lookalike looked sad, like Nezumi was hurting him too. Nezumi couldn’t stop looking at him. His lips, his scar, his eyes, his eyelashes, his nose, his chin, his hair, his eyebrows.

            “I don’t want to,” the lookalike finally said.

            Nezumi nodded. He didn’t know why the lookalike was in his apartment, what the lookalike wanted from him, but there was some relief that it wasn’t sex.

            Nezumi didn’t know if he could stand it, if this lookalike was just like all the others.

            He got up to put on clothes. Boxers and a t-shirt and a sweater and sweatpants. It got cold in his apartment at nights.

            After he pulled on his socks, he straightened up to see the lookalike standing right in front of him.

            It took Nezumi’s breath away, how familiar he looked.

            “Nezumi. It’s me,” the lookalike said, and Nezumi stepped back from him.  

            The lookalike put his hands up, stepped back as well.

            “Okay. It’s okay. Why don’t you just go to sleep? Do you want me to leave?”

            “Don’t leave,” Nezumi said, and he didn’t mean it, wanted to take the words back, didn’t even know who this person was and didn’t care about him.

            The lookalike nodded, and Nezumi went to bed first, watched the lookalike disappear in his bathroom and reemerge a minute later, when Nezumi was nearly asleep.

            The lookalike slipped onto Nezumi’s mattress beside him. Nezumi turned to look at him. The white hair on his pillow. The red eyes in the dark.

            “You look just like someone I used to know,” Nezumi whispered.

            “I know,” the man said.

            Nezumi couldn’t remember how this man had gotten in his bed. He assumed it was the same way the other men had gotten in his bed.

            They got in because they wanted to, and Nezumi didn’t care to get them out.

            Nezumi was glad this man was in his bed. He liked to look at him. He was tired and drunk – always tired and drunk and never anything else – but now he felt something else too, and he hated it but he wanted it too.

            “Can you stay the night?” Nezumi asked. He asked quietly, so it wouldn’t count.

            The man nodded. His white hair looked soft against the pillow, but Nezumi was scared to touch it, that it would dissolve beneath his fingers and he’d know it wasn’t real.

            “I can stay,” the man said. He spoke quietly too, so Nezumi wasn’t sure if it counted either.

            “You look like a guy named Shion,” Nezumi admitted, just to say his name, just to remind himself even though he spent so much time trying not to remember, he drank so he didn’t have to remember.

            The man who looked like Shion opened his lips. Lips that were familiar. Nezumi knew he was just drunk, knew it wasn’t real, these lips weren’t the right lips, but they looked so familiar.

            “I miss him,” Nezumi told this man with his familiar lips. There was nothing behind his confession but breath. No voice at all. No proof that Nezumi had even spoken.

            The man in his bed had red eyes that looked wet. Nezumi decided he’d drink less. He was hallucinating now, and that was not why he drank.

            He drank to keep the past away, and now it was in his bed, and Nezumi closed his eyes, thinking he was so tired he’d pass out immediately. When he woke he might still be drunk, but he wouldn’t be this drunk, too drunk, so drunk he almost thought, just for a second, that Shion was beside him in bed, whispering so softly it hurt – _I miss you too._

*


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cannot even tell you how many scenes i deleted from this chapter honestly i found the entire process very annoying and i'm crabby right now about this fic and very ready for it to be over. does it feel long to you guys? it feels long to me...very long...very very long.  
> BUT i'll stop my complaining to thank you guys for your patience, i know the update has taken longer than usual. i just started grad school and it's way too much work and on the small moments i have to relax i have been avoiding the annoyance that is this fic whelp  
> but anyway hope you guys like the chapter....

Nezumi was still asleep.

            Shion had woken hours before. Left Nezumi’s apartment, walked around the town where Nezumi lived, pictured Nezumi on the different streets, in the different shops. He found the library and walked amongst the shelves.

            The librarian was a woman who stared at Shion from the moment he entered the library. Shion suspected he was recognized, and left without checking out a book.

            By three in the afternoon, Shion was tired of occupying himself. He wanted to wake Nezumi, who was sprawled haphazardly across his mattress in the same position he had been since Shion woke several hours before.

            Instead, Shion left again. He went to the bar, saw that it didn’t open until four, walked around more until four and met the bartender outside the door of the bar, which they were unlocking.

            “Hi,” Shion said, and the bartender turned.

            “Look who it is. What’s up? Where’s Nezumi?”

             “He’s sleeping.”

             “Ah. He does that. And how can I help you?”

            Shion shrugged. “The bar’s open now, right? I wanted a drink.”

            The bartender raised their eyebrows, then opened the door and gestured for Shion to walk in first. Shion walked to the counter of the bar and slid onto a stool while the bartender flitted around, turning on the lights and straightening chairs and putting on the music before coming around the other side of the counter, where he counted the register and shuffled around several papers before walking over to the opposite side of the counter from Shion.

             “What would you like? Water?”

            “What is Nezumi’s drink?” Shion asked, leaning forward, needing to do so to be heard because the music was loud.

            “Double vodka, no ice. It’s a bit tasteless, I’m assuming that’s why Nezumi prefers it.”

            “I’ll have that,” Shion said.

            The bartender raised their eyebrows, then nodded, backed up to get a glass and filled it with vodka, slid it to Shion. “You don’t really seem the type to start drinking at four in the afternoon.”

            Shion didn’t bother answering. He picked up the glass, peered inside of it, then downed it, needing to take three gulps, the smell of it strong and the burn of it stronger at the back of his mouth, his throat.

            He felt his face scrunching up against his will as he nearly slammed down the glass.

            “Can I have another?” he gasped, his eyes watering.

            He’d drank before, but he preferred wine to hard alcohol, and when he did have hard alcohol, it was always painful.

            He’d been drunk before, always at Safu’s house. When Safu was drunk, she talked very rapidly, became very energetic.

            When Shion was drunk, he drank more.

            After Shion finished his third of Nezumi’s drink of choice and asked for another, the bartender paused.

            “Wait ten minutes, then I’ll give you another.”

            “I want it now,” Shion argued.

            “Have you heard of alcohol poisoning?”

            “How many of them – of these – does Nezumi drink? A night?” Shion asked, leaning hard against the counter so that it dug into his ribs.

            The bartender raised their eyebrows. “Nezumi has practice. More than you do, I’m going to guess.”

            “How many?” Shion asked. His head was just starting to feel nice and light.

            “Maybe seven. Sometimes more. This is a double, kid. Two shots in one. Nezumi drinks to get completely plastered, you shouldn’t be trying to match his terrible habits. Pace yourself.”

            “I wanna get completely plastered.”

            The bartender put their hands on their hips. “When Nezumi is plastered, he’s still very functional. He doesn’t pass out on my stage or puke on my floors. Are you going to pass out or puke?”

            “Promise I won’t,” Shion replied. There was a swooping feeling in his head, like the drunkness arriving all at once. He smiled, happy it was here with him. “Promise I won’t,” he said, forgetting if he’d said it already.

            The bartender shook their head, took Shion’s glass, filled it, and placed it in front of Shion. Shion downed only half of it before realizing it was not painful to swallow.

            “This isn’t vodka.”

            “Drink it.”

            “I don’t want water.”

            “Drink it, or you’re cut off. My bar, my rules. Don’t make me kick you out. I’ve never had to kick anyone out this early.”

            Shion frowned but drank the rest of the water before sliding his glass back across the counter. The bartender filled it with vodka this time, but only halfway.

            Even so, Shion drank it entirely the moment the bartender stopped pouring, offered his empty glass back again.

            “Another.”

            “Are you trying to do something you’ll regret? At least wait till the sun’s gone down to be an idiot,” the bartender advised.

            Shion’s head was starting to get thick, muggy. “Yes,” he replied, hoping it was an appropriate response to whatever the bartender had said, and the bartender shook their head, poured another drink that Shion gulped down quickly.

            If Nezumi could drink, then so could Shion. If Nezumi would rather get himself wasted than even think about Shion, then Shion would do the same to stop thinking about him.

            Shion wasn’t going to be miserable alone. He wasn’t going to miss Nezumi alone. He wasn’t going to feel everything alone.

            If Nezumi didn’t have to feel anything, then neither would Shion.

*

Nezumi woke alone.

            This was not a notable observation. He usually woke alone. If someone came home with him, they rarely lingered to the point when Nezumi would wake, late in the afternoon.

            Nezumi sat up and rubbed his face and looked at the bare mattress beside him. He didn’t know who he expected to be there. He tried to remember the night before, but he couldn’t, and that was the point. He drank so that he didn’t have to remember. The life he lived now didn’t offer him memories worth keeping.

            Nezumi shoved himself off his mattress. He washed his face and brushed his teeth with the bathroom door open, occasionally peering out into the main room, his gaze constantly returning to the empty mattress.

            He felt something strange and hollowing alongside the usual hangover, and it wasn’t until after he’d changed into his clothes for work that he realized what the feeling was – disappointment.

            Nezumi left the bathroom and went to the small table in his apartment, picked up his bottle of vodka. There was barely an inch of liquid in it. He sloshed it around, watching it shift at the bottom of the bottle, then placed the bottle down without drinking anything.

            He never went to work sober, but he didn’t want to drink, he didn’t want to dull his mind any more than it was. He wanted clarity, he wanted to understand.

            For the first time in a long time, Nezumi thought that, for a reason he could not explain, he’d forgotten something worth remembering.

            When he got to the bar, nightfall had passed, and it was crowded. Nezumi was late for his shift, but it wouldn’t matter. He couldn’t even see his manager for the crowd of people around the bar, blocking Nezumi’s view when he glanced at it.

            Nezumi’s pole was empty. He climbed onto the stage and heard shouts of his name, looked down at the crowd and felt that disappointment again.

            He didn’t know where the disappointment was coming from. To feel disappointment, there had to be an initial expectation, an initial hope, and Nezumi had nothing to hope for.

            He looked away from the crowd of faces familiar to him only from their permanence at the bar and began to dance, listening to the loud music, trying to let it distract from the disappointment that doused his skin, heavy and cool.

*

Shion lost count of the number of Nezumi’s favorite drinks he’d ordered.

            He asked for refills of this drink until the bartender cut him off, and then he’d wait until the bartender deemed it safe to serve him another, and he’d keep drinking until the bartender cut him off again.

            The pattern continued for hours. Patrons started filling the bar. It got crowded, people sitting too close to Shion, jostling his back and sides, but he paid them no mind.

            The pattern continued even when Nezumi came in. Shion didn’t notice at first, but then he did, at first thinking he heard Nezumi’s name and looking towards the stage where, indeed, there was Nezumi wearing only a red thong. Shion started laughing so hard he fell on the floor from where he was helped up by someone he didn’t know.

             “Dude, you okay?”

             “Thank you! Yes, I’m so good,” Shion told the person, detaching himself, climbing back onto his stood.

            The bartender was staring at him, and then they were saying Shion was officially done for the night. When the bartender asked for his credit card, Shion shook his head.

            “Take it out of Nezumi’s check,” he said, then laughed.

            “Clearly, you must know I can’t do that.”

            “Then you won’t get paid.”

            “Kid, don’t make this difficult.”

            Shion was still laughing, realized this, stopped himself and held up a hand. “Okay. Okay, hold up – hold on. I’ll get the money,” he said, then slid off his stool, nearly falling again but catching himself and heading up to Nezumi.         

            There was money in the waistband of Nezumi’s thong, and Shion would use that to pay for his drinks, pay for more drinks – he could see why Nezumi drank. He didn’t feel a thing but incredible, and it felt so good to forget how to feel anything else.

*

Nezumi was very sober and acutely aware of this.

            He was glad the music was loud. He heard less of the shit the patrons said to him with the music pumping in his ears, but he heard enough to remember why he’d started drinking in the first place.

            He didn’t know why he wasn’t drinking now. There wasn’t a reason for it, but each time a patron tried to offer him a drink, Nezumi was shaking his head, refusing in the way he never had.

            Nezumi tightened his grip on the pole. Wanted to close his eyes but eye contact earned more money. He wrapped his leg around the pole and spun and when he stopped, there was a patron climbing onto the stage.

            Nezumi let go of the pole abruptly.

            “Hey! Get off the stage!”

            “Shion?”

            The white hair was unmistakable. His face, his hands reaching up, his eyes – wet and unfocused and slipping off Nezumi and dragged back like Shion couldn’t control his own gaze – they were unmistakable.

            Also unmistakable was the fact that Shion was drunk. Worse than drunk. He was grinning a stupid grin that squeezed Nezumi’s chest so that he could hardly breathe.

            Shion clambered on the stage while Nezumi tried to figure out if he was hallucinating. How else could Shion be there, right there after a year? Maybe the sudden sobriety Nezumi had adopted after a year of drinking himself senseless was doing something to his head, making him see things, things like Shion so close to him, on his hands and knees on the stage now and reaching up.

            Nezumi reached down. Caught Shion’s fingers in his to see if he was real, and he felt real, skin incredibly hot but undeniably solid.

            “What are you doing? You’re here? How are you here?” Nezumi asked, crouching down, still holding Shion’s hand even though Shion was trying to pull away.

            “I need some of that money,” Shion said, nearly incoherent, reaching with his other hand, grappling at the waistband of Nezumi’s thong – Nezumi cursed himself for wearing a thong on the night Shion magically appeared and not the mildly less degrading booty shorts – but then Shion’s hand was gone, as Shion was being jerked back by the bouncer who’d appeared behind him.

            “Get down here!”

            “Wait – Wait!” Nezumi objected, confused, not understanding how Shion was there, feeling as if he was drunk even though he knew he was not, had not had one drink, he was sober for the first time in a long time and the clarity of it was terrible, as if reality was slowed-down, too bright, too loud.

            The bouncer had hauled Shion off the stage, was half-carrying him out. Nezumi had seen photos of the patrons the bouncer dragged off the stage, patrons who touched Nezumi despite the signs saying that they were not allowed to touch Nezumi, patrons who were unruly and too drunk and didn’t know how to listen.

            These patrons got taught a lesson by the bouncer, got punched in the face during this lesson, and Nezumi was off the stage, slipping through the customers, barefoot and feeling the stickiness of the bar floor with too much awareness.

            “Nezumi!” Shion was calling, and the music was loud but Nezumi still heard him, his heart quickening at the sound of Shion’s voice around his name. There was an odd desperation to Shion’s voice, a startled panic that jolted hotly through Nezumi’s core. The bar was dark but Nezumi could see Shion’s bright white hair clearly, and then the bouncer was at the door, was through it, and Nezumi heard his manager calling his name just as he reached the exit himself, was out the door too, was watching the bouncer setting Shion down.

            “Hey – Wait – Don’t touch him!” Nezumi yelled while Shion staggered and laughed as he tried to stand up straight.

            The bouncer glanced at him. “Don’t worry about it, it’s my job. Go back inside and do yours.”

            Nezumi stood between Shion and the bouncer, tried to ignore Shion’s ramblings behind him, tried not to turn around and look at him and make sure it was really him, not some white-haired stranger with Shion’s voice and Shion’s body and Shion’s eyes and Shion’s face. “You go inside, I’m fine. I know him.”

            The bouncer lifted his hands, his expression shifting to surprise. “Oh, you do? Sorry, man, didn’t mean to drag out your friend. Thought he was a creep.”

            “He’s not.”

            “You sure you’re good?”

            “We’re fine,” Nezumi said, and the bouncer nodded, opened the door of the bar so that the music poured out loudly.

            The bouncer glanced back before he closed the door again. “He’s pretty wasted, you should watch him.”

            “Yeah, I got it,” Nezumi replied. When the bouncer closed the door, muting the music somewhat, Nezumi finally turned and looked at Shion, who was leaning against the side of the bar, still grinning.

            It was definitely Shion. Nezumi knew this man, knew this man more than anyone in the world, and it was Shion, here, in front of him, grinning and then pointing. “You’re wearing a thong.”

            “I thought I dreamt of you last night. Was that real? Were you here?” Nezumi asked, stepping closer to Shion, still unsure that Shion was here, still unsure that Shion would remain here and not just disappear, just like that, one moment here, one moment gone.

            It had been a year. A year, and Nezumi didn’t understand how now, in this moment, Shion was in front of him, grinning himself stupid, his cheeks pink and his eyes wide.

            “I need to pay,” Shion said, closing his eyes, tilting his head back against the front of the building.

            “What?” Nezumi felt his heartbeat all over him. He took another step closer to Shion. Looked at his closed eyelids. The clumps of his hair. It was longer now, just by an inch or so. His lips, parted, and his breaths coming quickly through them. His scar. His pink cheeks. “Shion?” Nezumi asked, more quietly now.

            Shion was so close to him. Nezumi wanted to touch him. Was scared to, scared Shion wasn’t real, scared he wasn’t actually sober at all, he hadn’t been sober in a while and wasn’t any good at it anymore, maybe he’d failed, maybe he’d drank more than usual, was so drunk he couldn’t even remember drinking anything.

            Shion’s lips moved, and sound came out, not words but a jumble of soft syllables. He didn’t open his eyes, and then he was sliding down the wall of the building, and Nezumi reached out, caught him, lowered with him slowly until Shion was sitting and Nezumi kneeling in front of him.

            “Shion,” he said, just to say it because he hadn’t in a long time and he’d always liked Shion’s name, or maybe he’d just liked that he got to say it, that when he said it that meant Shion was there beside him, that meant Shion would look at him.

            Shion didn’t look at him now. He murmured more incoherent things. Nezumi hesitated, then touched his cheek. His skin was ridiculously warm, and Nezumi let his entire palm fall onto the hot skin.

            “Hey. Shion, can you look at me?”

            “Oh, there you are.”

            Nezumi didn’t want to look away from Shion, and did so reluctantly, seeing his manager with their hand still on the door of the bar they’d come through.

            “He okay?”

            “How much did he drink?” Nezumi didn’t take his palm from Shion’s cheek. Felt as Shion shifted against his skin. Glanced at Shion to see that he’d turned his face, his lips against Nezumi’s palm now, his eyes still closed.

            He kept murmuring, syllables of sound soft as cotton falling onto the palm of Nezumi’s hand.

            Nezumi felt an odd restlessness. An electricity pulsing through all of him, too quickly. He tried to breathe evenly and looked back at his manager, who’d let go of the door now, let it close behind them.

            “I cut him off after five doubles.”

            “Five doubles?” Nezumi asked, loudly, a shout, really.

            “Is he a lightweight?”

            “I don’t know, I never drank with him, but you’re a fucking bartender, you can’t tell when you’re overserving? Why didn’t you cut him off earlier?”

            “He said he could handle it,” Nezumi’s manager protested.

            “He was lying!” Nezumi snapped.

            “Look, I’m sure he’s fine. He’s drunk, how many people do we see like this a night, right?”

            “He’s not just another asshole at your fucking bar,” Nezumi hissed, and then it occurred to him that his manager didn’t seem to think it was strange that Nezumi had run after a random patron at the bar. “Wait – Do you know him?”

            Nezumi’s manager raised their eyebrows. “Shion? Well, you two are famous, and we met last night. Oh, no – ” his manager laughed – “Don’t tell me you don’t remember last night?”

            “What happened last night?”

            “Nezumi, honey, I think you need to come to terms with the fact that your drinking problem is getting out of control. You can’t even remember when your infamous star-crossed lover shows up and takes you home?”

            “What?” Nezumi asked, glancing back at Shion, who was murmuring into his palm lazily, not seeming to be paying attention or to have the capability to pay attention in the first place.

            “Kid came by last night. You were wasted, as per routine. He took you to your apartment when your shift ended, then showed up this afternoon and started drinking. That’s all I know. If you’re going to ask me if the two of you fucked, I don’t have the answer for you. But I’d assume you did. Aren’t you generally in the habit of fucking the men who take you home?”

            Nezumi glanced at his manager again. “You can leave now.”

            “Did I offend you? I didn’t mean to, I admire your lifestyle. It’s fascinatingly repetitive, yet you don’t seem to get bored of it. I suppose that must be because you never remember anything from the night before.”

            Nezumi looked back at Shion, who’d stopped murmuring, looked as if he’d fallen asleep with his lips pressed to Nezumi’s palm.

            Nezumi raised his other hand. Moved a few strands of Shion’s hair from where they’d tangled in his eyelashes. “Your Majesty. Are you awake?”

            The tip of Shion’s nose was pressed to Nezumi’s forefinger. Nezumi could feel the hot skate of his breaths, quick on his skin.

            “Shion?”

            Shion hummed after a moment, his eyelids flickering, then still again.

            “Hold on,” Nezumi’s manager said, and Nezumi didn’t look at them, didn’t care about them.

            “Shion, you have to wake up. Wake up and talk to me a little so I know you’re all right, and then you can go to sleep.”

            Shion hummed again. His head grew heavier against Nezumi’s palm.

            “Kid, here, drink this.”

            Nezumi glanced to his side, saw that his manager was now kneeling beside him, holding out a cup.

            “What is that?” Nezumi asked, and his manager raised their eyebrows.

            “Water, Nezumi. What did you think?”

            “How am I supposed to know? You let him get like this, didn’t you?”

            “I don’t even mind that you’re blaming me. It’s nice to see you caring about something. It’s an endearing quality to have, you know, caring,” his manager said, reaching out and cupping their hand over Shion’s shoulder, shaking him gently. “Hi, Shion, it’s me again. Come, drink this, it’s important, you’ve got your man all worried, we can’t have that, now can we?”

            Shion made another sound. Still did not open his eyes.

            “You’ve got to move your hand, Nezumi, you’re blocking his lips.”

            Nezumi moved his hand, cupping Shion’s jaw when Shion’s head started to dip forward. “I think he’s asleep.”

            “He’s not asleep. Shion, you better swallow or you’re going to choke,” Nezumi’s manager said, pressing the edge of the cup to Shion’s parted lips and tipping it.

            After a moment, water trickled down Shion’s chin, and then Shion was coughing, lurching forward, his eyes opening.

            Nezumi slipped his hand into Shion’s hair. “You okay?”

            “I don’ want – ”

            “A little more, come on,” Nezumi’s manager said, the cup back at Shion’s lips, and Shion shook his head, but then he was lifting his hands, holding the cup himself, drinking the rest of the water.

            He took the cup from his lips and blinked blearily at Nezumi, then Nezumi’s manager, then Nezumi again.

            “I’m tired,” he said heavily.

            “Talk to him a little, then have him get up. If he can walk to your place, he’ll be fine, all right?”

            Nezumi glanced at his manager. “You’re sure?”

            “Would I let the love of your life die?”

            Nezumi looked away from them. At Shion, who was wiping clumsily at his chin with the back of his hand.

            “I’m assuming you’re not coming back to work tonight, that’s fine. If you need anything, you know where to find me. Oh, and I’m taking his drinks out of your paycheck, he never paid me.”

            Nezumi waited for his manager to walk back into the bar, a flash of loud music accompanying the opening of the door before it was muted again. He settled in front of Shion, sat cross-legged and wanted to touch Shion again, kept thinking about his warm skin and raveled his fingers together in his lap.

            Shion was watching him with heavy eyes.

            “How do you feel?” Nezumi asked, unused to his unwavering stare after so long – after a year, a year without this man and now he was back, just like that.

            “Drunk,” Shion said thickly.

            Nezumi nodded. “That’s okay. Are you tired?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Can you stand up?”

            “I’ll sleep here.”

            “You can’t sleep here, Shion.”

            “Yeah, I can,” Shion said, his voice stubborn, almost petulant as a child’s.

            “You certainly are capable of it, no one’s doubting that. But it’s cold and dirty and dangerous to sleep right outside a bar.”

            “I don’t care.”

            “Why don’t you come to my apartment? I have a mattress there,” Nezumi said softly, still fighting himself from reaching out, wanting to cup Shion’s cheek again, feel his warm skin, feel the press of his lips and the skate of his quick breaths.

            “I don’t want to sleep with you.”

            Nezumi let his breath out slowly. “You don’t have to sleep with me.”

            Shion tilted his head against the building again. Looked at Nezumi still, his gaze dull and flat. “I don’t want herpes.”

            Nezumi blinked. “What? I don’t have herpes.”

            “You probably do. Or chlamydia.”

            “Shion, I don’t have either.”

            “How do you know?”

            “It doesn’t matter! I’m not having sex with you.”

            “Good, I don’t want your herpes.”     

            Nezumi pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have herpes,” he snapped.

            “Oh, yeah?” Shion asked, leaning forward, incredibly close, and Nezumi could smell the vodka on his breath when Shion exhaled. “How many guys have you slept with without a condom?”

            Nezumi leaned back.  “Are you ready to get up yet? I don’t want to sit out here all night.”

            “Twenty?”

            “Did you hear me? If you can stand up, let’s go, it’s time to go.”

            “Fifty?”

            “Shion, it’s time to get up. Don’t you want to go to bed? Aren’t you tired?”

            “One hundred?”

            Nezumi clenched his jaw.

            “Two hundred?” Shion asked, still staring at Nezumi, his gaze listless but unwavering, as if he didn’t care about Nezumi’s answer at all but still wanted one, wouldn’t look away until he got one.

            “Are you done?” Nezumi asked stiffly, after Shion was silent for a full minute.

            “Have you fucked two hundred guys, Nezumi?” Shion asked quietly. “I don’t care. But you’ve got to have herpes after two hundred guys. Other stuff too. Crabs. That other one. What’s it – the other – the diarrhea one. It’s not diarrhea. You can’t get diarrhea from sex, that’s not right.”

            Nezumi had stood up. Looked down at Shion, who looked up at him, glassy eyes, pink cheeks. He wondered if Shion really had been here the night before, like his manager claimed. If Shion had slept at Nezumi’s apartment. If Shion had slept with him, but Nezumi didn’t find that likely.

            Nezumi would have been wasted. Shion wouldn’t have taken advantage.

            “Get up.”

            “No.”

            Nezumi held out his hand. “Come on, Shion. Get up.”

            “No. Go away.”

            “Fuck. Do you know how difficult you’re being? Get up, Shion.”

            “What if you don’t have herpes?” Shion asked quietly, and Nezumi shut his eyes, shook his head.

            “I swear, Shion, I’ll leave you out here, I will,” Nezumi lied.

            “What if it’s worse?”

            Nezumi pressed his palms against his eyes. Exhaled hard, then inhaled slowly, deeply, before dropping his hands.

            He crouched back down. Looked at Shion, whose eyes were wet.

            “Why didn’t you take care of yourself?” Shion asked, his voice so quiet it was nearly muffled by the muted music from the bar.

            Nezumi opened his mouth. Said nothing. Closed his mouth again.

            “I never thought you’d – you’d stop caring about yourself. I never thought you’d become like this.” A drop of water leaked from the corner of Shion’s eye. Nezumi watched it drip down his cheek.

            He wanted to wipe it off, but didn’t.

            “I’m sorry,” he said, and it came out a whisper.

            Shion shook his head. “I can’t forgive you for trying to escape your life.”

            “I’m not.”

            “It’s not okay.”

            “It is, Shion. I am. I’m okay. Let’s just go to bed, you’re just drunk, it’ll be fine in the morning.”

            “It won’t.”

            “Of course it will.”

            “If you wanted to die, you should have just let them kill you.”

            Nezumi pushed his fingers into his bangs. He had no idea what he might have said the night before. He had no idea what he might have told Shion – if Shion really had been there, of course. Nezumi had been drunk. He could have said anything. He might have said everything.

             “I don’t want to die.”

            “Yes, you do.”

            “You’re being dramatic.”

            “You drink yourself numb so you can’t think and you can’t feel and what if something happened? You wouldn’t care, you don’t care,” Shion said, and he was crying fully now, more tears falling that he didn’t wipe off, and Nezumi didn’t either.

            “Shion, it’s one in the morning, can we at least go inside – ”

            “I would care. I would care, but you don’t care about me either, you don’t care about anything – ”

            “I care about you,” Nezumi interrupted, his voice hard, but Shion just shook his head.

            “You’re an alcoholic.”

            “And that means I don’t care about you? Shit, Shion, you don’t know anything, and you’re wasted, and it’s time to get up and go inside. Stand up, come on, let’s go, we’re going now.”

            Nezumi stood up again, and Shion didn’t, so Nezumi reached down, pulled him up from under his arms, and Shion pushed weakly at him.

            “Don’t touch me!”

            “Then stand up on your own.”

            “Get off!” Shion insisted, so Nezumi let go of him, and Shion stumbled, then steadied himself with a hand on the wall of the bar.

            Nezumi exhaled hard and didn’t touch Shion again. He watched the man carefully as they walked to the door of Nezumi’s apartment building, and Nezumi opened it, let Shion go in before him, Shion’s steps steadier now.

            Shion led the way to Nezumi’s apartment door and stood in front of it while Nezumi remembered he didn’t have his key.

            “Shit. I don’t have my key.”

            Shion glanced at him. “You’re not wearing any clothes.”

            “Give me a second. My manager’s got a few copies of it, let me just get one from them, just stay here. Got it? You’ll stay here?”

            “Why does your manager have copies of your key?”

            “Because I lose it a lot. Are you okay to wait here?”

            “Have you slept with your manager?”

            Nezumi was not as irritated as he might have been. He was amazed that Shion was in front of him. It was hard to feel irritated alongside his amazement. “Shion, are you listening? Wait here, all right? Don’t wander off.”

            “Your manager is good looking. Probably likes you. Everyone at the bar likes you.”

            Nezumi backed away from him. “Stay there. I’ll just be a minute,” he called, and then he ran down the hallway, back to the bar where his manager was pouring someone a drink.

            Nezumi ignored the calls of his name and walked up to the counter where his manager glanced up.

            “Don’t tell me he’s dead.”

            Nezumi narrowed his eyes. “I need my key.”

            His manager frowned. “Aren’t you sober for once? You can’t even be responsible now?”

            “Here for my key, not the pleasure of your conversation.”

            His manager slid the drink they’d poured across the counter to a girl who was looking at Nezumi. Nezumi ignored her, watched his manager turn to the back counter, stoop down to open a cupboard and rummage through it before turning around with a pile of clothes, Nezumi’s boots, and a key.

            “You left your clothes in your dash to rescue your man from our bouncer.”

            Nezumi took the clothes and hooked his fingers in his boots. “Thanks.”

            “He seems like a sweet kid. Too sweet for you.”

            “Good night,” Nezumi said, turning away from his manager, ignoring the sound of their laughter as he left the bar.

            Shion was outside, immediately noticeable from his white hair, wandering a few yards from the building.

            “Hey! Didn’t I tell you to stay still and wait?”

            Shion turned. His hands were outstretched to the sides of him, as if for balance.

            “I don’t have to listen to you.”

            Nezumi walked slowly to Shion, who walked backwards away from him.

            “Leave me alone.”

            “Look, you came here. You came to my bar to drink yourself senseless. This is on you, take some responsibility.”

            “No,” Shion replied.

            Nezumi caught up to him easily, as Shion stumbled on his own feet, nearly fell.

            Nezumi dropped his boots to catch Shion by the wrist.

            “Let go of – ”

            “Stop protesting, Shion. You’re coming to my apartment and going to bed, that’s it, it’s not an argument, you don’t have a say in it. No one else is going to take care of you. You’re not in the Gold District, there’s assholes in the real world, I’m not going to let you just wander the streets on your own while you’re wasted in the middle of the night. Your mom’s not here, and Safu’s not here, nobody is here but me, I’m all you’ve got here whether you want me or not, so you’re staying with me tonight. Now stop making a fuss, all right?”

            Shion stopped trying to pull away. Looked at Nezumi solidly, unwavering despite the glassines of his gaze. “I’m not your hostage anymore.”

            “Still a genius, I see.”

            “You don’t have a hold on me. I’m not your captive and I’m not captivated by you and you don’t have me at all. You let me go, remember?”

            Nezumi let go of Shion’s wrist to stoop down, pick up his boots. He arranged his pile of clothes and his boots so that he could hold it all with one hand and reached out again, caught Shion’s wrist again.

            “I remember. Let’s go.” Nezumi pulled Shion back to his apartment building, through the door, to his own apartment, shoved the key in his lock and was turning it when Shion spoke again.

            “I’m not yours anymore,” he said, somehow as stubborn as Nezumi remembered despite being wasted, and Nezumi glanced at Shion as he kicked his door open.

            “You never were,” Nezumi replied, gesturing into his apartment. “In you go.”

            Shion just looked at him, but after a few seconds, he did as Nezumi told him, walked into Nezumi’s apartment and went straight for the bathroom, the door of which he closed behind him.

            Nezumi shut the front door, locked it, and threw his key and clothing on the table. He wanted to shower, but didn’t trust Shion not to go wandering off while he did so. He extracted the bills from the waistband of his thong before changing out of it and pulling on boxers and a t-shirt, then went to the bathroom and knocked on the door.

            “You can use my toothbrush, I don’t have a spare. You okay in there?”

            There was no response but the running of the sink. Nezumi leaned against the wall, tilted his head back, closed his eyes.

             “Shion. Did you really spend the night last night?” Nezumi asked, after a moment, but Shion didn’t respond.

            Nezumi wished he remembered but was glad he didn’t. He didn’t know what he felt in this moment, and last night was too much to think about on top of it. He thought he felt everything. Horrible and hopeful. Lost and longing.

            Want. He felt a lot of want, and tried not to think about it.

            The bathroom door opened before the faucet stopped running. Shion walked out, and Nezumi peered in.

            “You left the sink on.”

            “What are you doing here?” Shion asked, stopping and staring at Nezumi, and Nezumi blinked back at him.

            A year since he’d seen this man, and here he was. Not a foot away. Solid and there. Touchable and in Nezumi’s life when Nezumi hadn’t let himself hope for such a thing, such a terrifying incredible thing as this man in the same room as him again.

            “I live here,” Nezumi said, but it felt like a lie.

            He hadn’t been living. This wasn’t a life. It was running from a life, and Nezumi had never run, didn’t know how to do it right, felt it eating him inside until he drank and didn’t have to feel anything.

            Shion reached out. Touched Nezumi’s cheek, fingers trickling to Nezumi’s lips, and Nezumi let himself be touched by the faint mist of Shion’s fingertips.

            “I thought I made you up,” Shion said quietly, taking his hand away.

            Nezumi shoved his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t try to pull Shion’s hand back. “Why did you come here, Your Majesty?” He had no idea how Shion even knew how to find him, but he didn’t care about that.

            He cared about Shion being right in front of him, looking at him, taking the breath Nezumi might have inhaled if he’d been able to breathe.

             “I thought I wanted to see you,” Shion said, the smallest crease between his eyebrows.

            Nezumi swallowed. “I wanted to see you since the moment I left,” he admitted, thinking it wouldn’t matter, Shion wouldn’t remember just like Nezumi couldn’t remember the night before.

            A part of him wanted Shion to remember. To know. To never forget how much Nezumi wanted him.

             “I used to feel that way too,” Shion was saying, and Nezumi tightened his jaw, tried not to think too much about Shion’s _used to_ , tried not to think what had changed, why anything had changed.

             “Maybe you should go to bed,” Nezumi suggested, so Shion wouldn’t say anything else. “You look tired.”

            Shion nodded, rubbed at his eyes.

            “Go on, I’ll just use the bathroom and be right out.”

            Nezumi watched Shion stumble to the mattress and collapse on it before he went into the bathroom. He left the door open, quickly washed his face and brushed his teeth and didn’t bother looking at himself in the mirror. He peed and came out of the bathroom, and Shion was still splayed across his mattress.

            Nezumi sat on the edge of the mattress. Looked at Shion and decided he would stay awake all night, just to make sure Shion didn’t disappear.

*


	16. Chapter 16

Shion woke not knowing where he was or how he’d gotten there or what time it was, but he knew he had to vomit.

            He sat up abruptly, pressed his palm to his mouth and wished he hadn’t sat up so abruptly.

            “Shion?”

            He knew this voice and didn’t have time to think about it. He stood up, recognized the apartment he was in, remembered flashes of the night before, or maybe that same night, he didn’t know, didn’t care, made it to the bathroom and vomited into the sink because it was closer than the toilet.

            “It’s okay.” Nezumi’s voice was thick and heavy, like he was only just barely pulled out from sleep. His hand was on Shion’s back, rubbing slow circles that Shion concentrated on so he didn’t have to think about the burning of his throat, the vodka he’d drank even worse coming back up than it had been going down.

            Shion listened to the sound of his vomit hitting the sink, quick splatters. He’d barely had anything to eat all day, and all that came up was liquid, undiluted vodka, searing and painful. He dug his nails into the sides of Nezumi’s sink. His eyes were wet, and he watched a tear fall into the mess of his vomit.

            He unlatched one hand from the side of Nezumi’s sink. Turned on the faucet. Tried to wash everything down the drain.

            Shion felt sick even when nothing else would come up. He turned off the faucet but stayed over the sink, waiting, wanting more to leave him; his insides still hurt, there was more, he just wanted it out.

            Nezumi’s hand was still on his back, above the fabric of his sweater.

            Shion turned the faucet back on. Cupped his hands underneath it and rinsed his mouth. He wanted to brush his teeth but he didn’t have a toothbrush and didn’t want to use Nezumi’s again. He wiped his lips with the sleeve of his sweater and stood up, looked at himself in the mirror accidentally.

            His eyes were red-rimmed and his skin sallow. Nezumi was behind him, just visible over his shoulder, rubbing at his own eyes, then reaching his fingers back, weaving them through his dark hair.

            Shion looked away from the mirror.

            “I’m fine,” he told Nezumi, and Nezumi took his hand from his back.

            “Okay.”

            “I need to pee,” Shion said, and Nezumi nodded, left the bathroom, and Shion closed the door when he was gone.

            He peed, then washed his hands under warm water for longer than he needed to. He studied himself again in the mirror as he washed his hands and was pleased that nothing of what he felt showed.

            Nezumi would not be able to read him, to know he was upset and relieved and uncertain and angry and worried and burning and yearning.

            Nezumi wouldn’t know anything, and Shion didn’t want him to. He could hardly think, and anything to do with Nezumi required thought, too much thought for right now when Shion’s head was thick and heavy.

            He left the bathroom. Nezumi was sitting on the mattress, his back against the wall, and Shion tried not to look at him, walked around the mattress to the empty side and laid with his back to Nezumi, pulling his knees to his chest around the pain in his stomach that he hadn’t been able to vomit out, curling more tightly still.

            “Shion,” Nezumi said quietly, after a minute, and Shion closed his eyes that had only just adjusted to the darkness.

            Shion didn’t answer, and he didn’t feel Nezumi shift beside him at all even though it felt like hours later that Shion fell asleep.

*

Nezumi was awake most of the night, and when he finally fell asleep, it was near morning.

            He woke quickly again in an almost startled way and blinked up at his ceiling before turning his head to the side.

            Shion was right beside him. Pressed against him, his body coating the side of Nezumi’s left arm and leg.

            Nezumi was on his back at the very edge of the mattress. He’d tried to give Shion space. He knew he moved in his sleep, and had tried to sleep lightly to avoid this, to stop himself from reaching out to Shion, grabbing him, pulling him.

            He hadn’t moved. It was Shion who had moved, and Nezumi was very aware of this, looked away from Shion and back at the ceiling and didn’t feel sleepy at all.

            He felt very warm on one side and very cold on the other. He concentrated on the differing temperatures and listened to Shion’s breaths. He thought about combing his fingers through Shion’s hair, but didn’t.

            He looked at Shion again, for brief moments, three more times before Shion stirred. Nezumi was looking at the ceiling when Shion moved, a shift of his body against Nezumi’s, a hitch in the pattern of his breaths, and then his body was abruptly gone, and Nezumi shifted his gaze from the ceiling to Shion beside him, sitting up, looking down at him.

            “Sorry. I think I was cold,” Shion mumbled.

            “You don’t have to apologize.”

            “And drunk. I was cold and drunk.”

            Nezumi pushed himself up onto his forearms. “Your Majesty – ”

            “Don’t call me that,” Shion said shortly, suddenly, and he was shoving himself up from the bed, stumbling, regaining his balance and standing.

            Nezumi sat up on the mattress and watched Shion pace his apartment. He loved that Shion was there, in the same space as he was. He didn’t want Shion to leave. He didn’t care what happened next as long as Shion stayed.

            “Are you hungry? Did you eat anything yesterday?”

            “Did you?” Shion countered, as if he was looking for fights to start, and Nezumi didn’t mind this.

            He’d fight with Shion if Shion wanted. As long as Shion stayed.

            “We could get breakfast. I don’t have a lot of food here.”

            “I have to go home,” Shion said, pressing the palm of his hand against his forehead.

            Nezumi ignored Shion’s words. “Do you have a headache? I have Advil.”

            “I have to go, Nezumi.”

            Nezumi contemplated standing up, but worried it would make Shion leave faster. He stayed on the mattress, watched Shion and tried to think of how to keep him here.

            “It’s a small airport. There might not be a flight to the Gold District today.”

            Shion glanced at him. “There is. It’s the same time as yesterday’s. Five in the afternoon.”

            Nezumi didn’t know how Shion knew what time yesterday’s flight was. He didn’t know why Shion was trying to leave so quickly. He didn’t know why Shion had come in the first place. “It’s still morning.” Nezumi was guessing. He had no idea what time it was.

            “I’ll wait at the airport.”

            Nezumi tried to ignore the continued mentions of leaving. Hadn’t Shion just got there? Had he come only to leave again? “Let me get you something to eat. If you don’t eat, your hangover will only get worse.”

            Shion pointed at him, his eyes narrowed. “Don’t try to take care of me. If you won’t take care of yourself, you’re not allowed to try and take care of me.”

            Nezumi pushed his bangs out of his eyes. “Are you mad at me?”

            “Of course I’m mad at you!” Shion shouted. He’d slept in his shoes, so he didn’t even have to stop to put them on before he headed to the front door.

            Nezumi’s heart burned as he scrambled up from the mattress, beat Shion to the door, slammed his hand against it just as Shion tried to open it.

            “Please move, Nezumi,” Shion said, not looking at him.

            “Wait. Just wait, okay? I don’t understand why you’re storming out. You just got here.”

            “I don’t want to be here!”

            “You’re the one who came here. You went and bought a ticket and flew all the way here, or came on a boat, or – I don’t know how you got here, but you did, and you can’t tell me you don’t want to be here, I’m not buying that,” Nezumi argued, trying to be more awake, alert, to understand what was happening.

            “I can’t stay here,” Shion argued back, no longer trying to pull the door open.

            Nezumi dug his fingernails into the door. “Why? I haven’t seen you in a year, and now you’re here, you’re right here and – All I can think about is how incredible it is that you’re here, and you’re trying to leave, why would you want that? Did I do something? Did I say something to you when I was drunk the night you got here? I don’t remember, Shion, I can’t think of what I could have said, you have to tell me.”

            “You said you missed me!” Shion shouted, and then he took a breath, let it out slowly, stared at the ground when he kept talking, more quietly now. “I want to leave because I hate looking at you. I hate seeing you live this way. I hate it because it hurts, because it’s my fault, because I told you to fight for me, and you escaped your imprisonment just to see me because I was being childish and wouldn’t come see you, and then you had a death sentence on you, and you had to leave, and you had to come here, and it’s my fault, this shitty apartment and those creeps you have to deal with at the bar every night and you drinking all the time and not caring about your life anymore is my fault, so I can’t stay here because it hurts to be here and see what I’ve done to you.”

            Shion was looking at Nezumi now. His eyes were wet and his hands were in fists and Nezumi wanted to kiss him and it took everything he had in him not to.

            He loved hearing Shion’s voice. Hearing him ramble this nonsense, the flow of it, his quick and quiet words, his insistence and urgency, the absurdity of his thoughts.

            “Are you done?” Nezumi asked gently, when Shion seemed finished.

            Shion rubbed at his eyes. “You’re the strongest person I know. So much has happened to you, but when I met you it was like you were stronger than anyone in the Gold District, stronger than people who’ve lived their entire lives untouched. You still had more life in you than any of them.”

            “That’s very nice of you to say,” Nezumi said, slipping his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t pull Shion closer to him the way he wanted, the way he couldn’t stand not to.

            “But now – now you’re so broken, and I did that to you, and when I see you like this all I feel is this weight, this ache in my chest.”

            “It’s rude to call someone broken,” Nezumi said. “Which I’m not. I believe you saw me when I was drunk, and no one is at their best after a good amount of vodka, which you proved last night. And then I was hungover, so I think I get a pass for that too.”

            Shion did not seem comforted. “When is the last time you’ve been sober?”

            Nezumi tilted his head, amazed that Shion could take himself seriously, for a man who was so ridiculous. “You can’t seriously blame yourself for the mistakes I’ve made. It’s a level of narcissism I didn’t think even you were capable of.”

            “You drink to avoid your life. You drink so you won’t think about me. I did this to you.”

            “If you stay, I won’t have to drink,” Nezumi reasoned, pleased with himself for his own logic.

            Shion shook his head. “I can’t stay here. I wasn’t thinking. They told us where you were and I had to see you, but I didn’t think ahead.”

            Nezumi stared at him, started to understand that Shion really did intend to leave, it wasn’t a joke, it wasn’t some absurd whim. He felt his own eyes narrow, felt everything fall away but anger and fear, and he pushed the fear aside, focused on what was left. “That’s it, then? You came here to tell me that was it? Why’d you come at all?”  

            “I wasn’t thinking – ”

            “Yeah, Shion, you’re never thinking, you can’t keep getting away with that, you can’t keep doing whatever you want and never facing the consequences. I face consequences for every goddamn thing, but you, they never apply to you, you never have to learn that you can’t just do whatever the fuck you want – ”

            “Nezumi, don’t yell at me – ”

            “You come here like it’s nothing, like you can come one day and leave the next because it hurts you a little to have to see the shit that my life is, but what about me? What about what hurts me?”

            “I don’t want to hurt you!”

            “Then don’t. Don’t leave. Dammit, Shion. I haven’t been sober in a fucking year, but I don’t want to drink right now, I don’t want to feel nothing again. If you leave – ” Nezumi dropped his hand from where it clenched his hair. He exhaled hard, looked away from Shion, stared at the door he couldn’t stand the thought of Shion walking through.

            He’d take Shion hostage. He’d tie him to his bed. He wouldn’t let him leave.

            Nezumi took a deep breath. He wouldn’t do any of that. He’d let Shion go. He’d drink the moment Shion was gone. He’d drink until he forgot how it felt, now, to feel everything, to have everything, to want more despite that. He’d drink like he’d done for a year, he’d do it for the rest of his life, and the idea of a lifetime of making himself forget was unbearable, but Nezumi knew once he drank the pain would be gone again.

            “Safu keeps telling me to forget about you,” Shion said softly, while Nezumi still stared at the door. “And I try to move on. I went to every library in the Gold District, you know,” he said, laughing quietly, and Nezumi peeked at him, distracted from the fact that Shion was going to leave his life again.

            “Library?”

            Shion’s eyes widened immediately. He covered his mouth with his palm, then laughed into it, muffling the sound when Nezumi wished he wouldn’t.

            “Oh, yeah. Safu thinks I have a librarian fetish.”

            Nezumi squinted, remembering. “A librarian came into the bakery once to talk to me.”

            “Oh, no.”

            “Yumi made him leave.”

            “What did he say to you?”

            “You knew him.”

            “I can’t believe he went to talk to you,” Shion said, looking helpless.

            “Is Safu right?” Nezumi asked, trying to think back to the librarian, picture the guy’s face, but he struggled to do so. The incident hadn’t seemed important. Hadn’t seemed like anything worth remembering.

            Nezumi thought the guy had glasses, but couldn’t be sure.

            “Is Safu right about what?”

            “Do you have a librarian fetish?” Nezumi asked, and Shion laughed again, this time weakly.

            “No, I don’t think so. It’d be easier. There’s a lot of librarians in the Gold District.”

            Nezumi looked at Shion carefully. “You’re not really going to leave right now.”

            “I have to.”

            “Why? You can do anything, Shion. You can go anywhere. If I could go anywhere – ” Nezumi cut himself off. Tightened his jaw.

            “Where would you go?” Shion asked, very quietly.

            Nezumi just looked at him. “You know where I’d go, Your Majesty.”

            Shion’s eyes shifted between Nezumi’s. “I would have come with you. The night you left the Gold District, when you escaped somehow, no one knows how you did it, I would have come with you.”

            “I didn’t know if I was going to make it, Shion, it would have been too much of a risk to tell you.”

            “And if you’d sent a letter in the past year telling me where you were, I would have come out and found you. I’d have gone across the world if you asked me to.”

            “What are you trying to say? I made you wait too long?”

            Shion looked down at his hands. He was picking a thread on the sleeve of his sweater. “I’m saying maybe we aren’t supposed to work out, and I just needed time to accept that.”

            Nezumi stepped closer to him. Reached out, caught Shion’s fingers in his, couldn’t stop himself and didn’t want to. “You’ve accepted that?” he whispered, close enough to do so, Shion’s face was not an inch from his, and when Shion looked up, their lips nearly touched. “You expect me to believe you accepted such a stupid thought when you’re standing right here, in front of me?”

            “I just wanted to see you,” Shion said weakly.

            “Then stay here. See me. You can look at me all you want, I don’t mind, I won’t even make you stick money in my underwear.”

            “It’s not that simple,” Shion insisted, stepping away from Nezumi, and Nezumi nearly threw his hands up.

            “Why can’t it be? Is it that you’ll miss your family? You can fly home whenever you want, you can visit Karan and Safu, they can come visit you. Is it your job? Pretty sure chemistry exists everywhere, not just the Gold District. Is it that you hate this shitty apartment? So do I, we’ll move, I hate my job too, I’ll get another one. What’s wrong, Shion? What do I need to fix? What about the idea of me is not enough for you?”

            “It’s not that,” Shion said, almost pleading, but Nezumi could hardly look at him.

            “Was a year not enough? You want to go back home and wait some more before you grace me with your presence again? What do you want from me, Shion, just tell me, you can’t come here after a year and say you’re going to leave again, I’m not just going to let you do that, you must realize that.”

            “I just make things worse for you! Can’t you see that? Aren’t the past few years proof of that?” Shion demanded.

            Nezumi weaved his fingers through his bangs. “Yeah, I do see that. You’re a pain in the ass. Before you, I was very content to kidnap citizens from your district and live a fulfilled life in the palm of Saya’s hand.”

            “Nezumi – ”

            “Are you serious, Shion? I really want to know if you think I was better off before you. I really am curious – Do you think I was having the time of my life before I met you? Do you somehow really believe you fucked me over by making me fall for you? Fuck,” Nezumi snapped, turning away from Shion, breathing hard, his skin hot.

            He’d been numb for a year and now there was everything, and he wanted to push it down but more than that he wanted to feel it. He wanted to feel something. He wanted to feel what Shion did to him, everything he couldn’t stand and everything he craved.

            Shion was quiet for a long time, which Nezumi didn’t mind. It gave him time to breathe. To calm down. To collect himself, and then Shion was speaking again, very softly from behind him.

            “I just – I think your life would be easier without me in it.”

            Nezumi closed his eyes. Pictured his life before Shion, tried to remember if it was easier.

            It was emptier. It didn’t have death sentences or imprisonment or constant surveillance from the military or running away or drinking himself senseless or dancing for assholes who yelled out how much they wanted to fuck him. That didn’t mean it was easier.

            Nezumi turned back around. Examined Shion, who watched him sadly.

            “My life was never easy, Shion, don’t give yourself credit for making it difficult. I don’t want easy. I wouldn’t know what to do with easy, and I have no use for it, and I’m asking you to stay, you realize that’s what I’m doing, right? I’m asking you to be here, if not here, then anywhere you want where I haven’t got a death sentence on me, I’m asking you to just be with me. And no, you’re right, that’s not easy, but it’s easier than waking up tomorrow without you picking a fight the moment I’m conscious. It’s easier than doing what I’ve done the past year for the rest of my life. It’s easier than anything else I can imagine, so will you just – Will you just stop being so stubborn and not make me beg for you? I’m not a fan of it, and I’m getting rather irritated with the ordeal as I really cannot see how this is necessary.”

            If anything, Shion’s saddened expression deepened. Nezumi almost wanted to leave. To lock Shion in his apartment and leave so he couldn’t listen to whatever objection Shion had in him, whatever he had to say that would only hurt, Nezumi was sure of it.

            Shion reached out, touched Nezumi’s chest above his t-shirt with trailing fingers, a light touch, and Nezumi knew what it meant – Shion was trying to comfort him.

            Nezumi stepped away from Shion so that his hand fell between them.

            “I just need to think,” Shion insisted.

            “You’ve had a year to think,” Nezumi argued, pulling on his bangs, confused, uncertain.    

            Shion had come all the way here. He’d somehow found Nezumi, he’d come here, it had to mean he wanted the same thing, it had to mean he wanted Nezumi too.

            “I’ve had a year to miss you. There’s a difference, I wasn’t thinking about what would happen when we saw each other again, I just knew that I needed to see you.”

            “Why do you need to think about it? What’s changed? Nothing has changed for me.”

            “I want it to be as simple as you’re saying it is, but it’s not. What about the border areas?”

            Nezumi wondered if he’d heard wrong. “What about them?”

            “Nezumi, you’ll want to fight for them. I know you will. You’ll want the Gold District government to pay its dues. You joined the Resistance Force for a reason.”

            “I joined the Resistance Force because it was a job. I never believed in them – ”

            “But you believed in what they wanted! And I do too. I agree, border area residents have been treated unfairly. But I know who you are, Nezumi, you’re not going to be able to sit back, you’re not going to be able to move somewhere far away with me and put this behind you – ”

            “I’m pretty good at putting my past behind me,” Nezumi interjected, unsure how the conversation had gone to the Resistance Force, unsure why they mattered, why Shion was pretending that mattered.

            Nezumi would forget about it. He’d forget about the border areas. He’d forget about the corruption of the Gold District.

            Shion’s shoulders fell. “You won’t be able to. This means too much to you. This has to do with your family, and I know you’ll never rest until something changes in the border areas, until they’re given some justice for what they’ve suffered. It’s something I really admire about you.”

            Nezumi tried to look at all of Shion at once. Didn’t want to concentrate on just one part of him because that wasn’t enough. “Okay,” he said slowly. “I’ll play along. Let’s say you’re right. I still think the Gold District are assholes who owe the border areas for decades of poverty and degradation. What does that have to do with you being here?”

            “It has to do with you disappearing again. If you’re chasing after justice for the border areas, it just seems inevitable, and I can’t take that again, Nezumi.”

            Nezumi narrowed his eyes. “I disappeared because your government wanted your military to shoot me in the head.”

            Shion’s expression shifted. “It’s not _my_ government.”

            “Isn’t it? Didn’t you grow up in the Gold District? Isn’t that the only place you’ve ever lived?”

            Shion crossed his arms. “I thought you got over your problem with my upbringing.”

            “Yeah, and I thought you got over it too, but here you are reminding me of your infinite privilege.”

            Shion’s eyebrows knit. “What does that even mean?”

            “It means you can go wherever you want, and that’s a privilege, Shion, I can’t do that. I can’t follow you, I’ve got to wait for when you decide to pop in for, what, forty-eight hours? Less than that? And you’ll leave, and then you’ll change your mind again and come back, and I’m just supposed to wait for you because what other choice do I have?” Nezumi snapped.

            Shion’s arms unraveled and fell limply to his sides. “That’s completely ridiculous! Nezumi, I’m just protecting myself. You tell me I’m reckless, but you are too! You could get hurt trying to get justice for the border areas, and of course I’ll be there beside you, but I know you’ll throw away your life to protect mine, and I can’t be responsible for you getting hurt again. I was already responsible for you getting shot by the Resistance Force, and then for your imprisonment by the Gold District military, and then your death sentence. I’m responsible for the way you’ve thrown out your life the past year, when terrible things could have happened to you with you getting so drunk every night and having sex with strangers who could have hurt you, didn’t you ever think of that? I know you say your life was always difficult, and it was, but it was never my fault until we met and you started sacrificing yourself for me. I can’t let you do that anymore.”

            “Fine, I’ll let the next person who points a gun at you shoot you. Now can you stop rambling on about this nonsense?” Nezumi asked shortly.

            Shion sighed in a way that seemed to deflate him. “It’s not nonsense to me, Nezumi. It’s important. Your life is important to me.”

            “Great, we’re on the same page. It’s important to me too.”    

            “But not compared to mine.”

            “Now you’re just speculating.”

            “It’s not speculation when there’s proof! There’s everything we’ve gone through in the past! You talk about being so great at surviving, but since we’ve met, it’s become so much more difficult for you because you haven’t been putting yourself first.”

            Nezumi pinched the bridge of his nose. “You really find the stupidest things to complain about. Do you realize that? Most people would be grateful.”

            “I am grateful. But I’m not most people. Not to you. And you’re not most people to me. You’re so important to me, and I need to think about this before I let myself hurt you again,” Shion said, his hand on the door again, and Nezumi stared at it, stared at Shion, wanted to throw his hands up in confusion, wanted to shout at Shion for being unnecessarily ridiculous and getting himself worked up about things that didn’t matter, that didn’t make sense.

            But he didn’t want to yell at Shion. He didn’t want to argue with him anymore.

            “Shion. Try to think about what you’re saying. You don’t really believe this stuff, right? You’re just – I don’t know – You’re hungover, maybe you just need to eat something.”

            “I’m not saying any of this because I’m hungry. I’m trying to be responsible. You always said I don’t think before I act, right? You say that’s why my plans never worked, like trying to save Safu and the other hostages on the first day we met, remember? And then trying to escape with the piece of that glass plate at your house. I wasn’t thinking. I was too focused on what I wanted to think about what made sense.”

            “This isn’t the same.”

            “I just need to think, Nezumi, and I can’t do that when I’m around you,” Shion said, turning the knob, opening the door, and Nezumi slammed it closed.

            “There’s nothing to think about.”

            “Nezumi, please, just let me out.”

            “If I let you be on your own, you’ll be trapped in your own idiocy and it’ll perpetuate and solidify. You need to be around reason.”

            “You’re not being reasonable either,” Shion argued, opening the door again, and again, Nezumi slammed his palm against it, closing it loudly.

            “You’re hungover and being very stupid, Shion.”

            “You have to know on some level that you’re better off without me,” Shion said, opening the door.

            Nezumi slammed it again, his palm starting to burn. “I don’t know that at any level.”

            “What if I’m better off without you?” Shion countered, and this time, when Shion wrenched open the door, Nezumi didn’t slam it closed.

            He didn’t notice that it was open. He stared at Shion, who stared back.

            “I’m not saying that’s true,” Shion said quietly.

            Nezumi ignored how dry his mouth had become. “Then what are you saying?”

            “I’m saying – I’m saying we just need to think.”

            “I don’t have anything to think about.”

            “But I do,” Shion said, and then he was walking through the doorway that Nezumi realized was open.

            Shion turned once he’d stepped out of Nezumi’s apartment. “I’m not leaving the island yet. I just need to think, but I’ll come back and talk to you after I’ve had time to make sense of this.”

            “Make sense of this,” Nezumi echoed.

            Shion reached out, caught Nezumi’s hand in his, and Nezumi felt the squeeze of Shion’s fingers, the solidity. He wanted to turn his hand around in Shion’s, to interlock their fingers and not let Shion go.

            “When I was your hostage, wanting you wasn’t on my mind. And then when I came back from the border area, and you returned to kidnapping citizens, I was confused about you. And then you were a prisoner, and we started being together, but even then we both knew there wasn’t a future for us, not like how it was. Now, we can be something real, and I’m trying to approach this with my head and not just my heart. The decisions made by my heart have hurt me, and they’ve hurt you too. My heart is reckless and desperate. I just need to think.”

            Shion let go of Nezumi’s hand, and Nezumi let him. He didn’t nod because he didn’t agree. He didn’t understand. He didn’t know what there was to think about, why Shion kept talking about not wanting to hurt him and then insisting he leave at the same time.

            Hadn’t a year been enough?

            “I’ll be back by tonight to talk with you. You should think about this too,” Shion said quietly.

            Nezumi didn’t believe him. Shion was leaving, escaping, and Nezumi didn’t know why he was someone Shion felt the need to escape.

            But he could understand that Shion would be better off without him. That made sense. He thought Shion had been oblivious to that, he thought, after everything Shion had said, after everything Shion had done, that Shion didn’t see it this way, but Nezumi had been wrong.

            Shion did see it this way. And Nezumi couldn’t fault him for that.

            Shion was turning, then, leaving, and Nezumi stepped out the doorway after him, didn’t allow himself to think for even a second before calling out.

            “Shion.”

            Shion turned. Looked at him with a crease between his eyebrows.

            Nezumi ignored this. Ignored Shion’s expression. “Let me kiss you,” he said. He’d be selfish. Shion was being selfish, so Nezumi would too, just once, just because it’d been a year and now it might be forever.

            Shion’s lips parted. He blinked, eyes wide and the red of them dulled by the dark of the hallway, illuminated by a single lightbulb hanging by the apartment building entrance.

            After a moment, he nodded, and Nezumi stepped forward to close the gap between them, used his heart and not his head because he didn’t care about thought, what a waste of time, he didn’t want to do it, to plan, to be patient the way he used to be.

            He wanted to be like Shion. Reckless, impulsive. Saying everything on his mind. Doing what he thought was right without thinking for a second about why it might not be.

            Nezumi was close enough that his bangs fell against Shion’s forehead. He leaned down, his nose grazing the bridge of Shion’s, the contact startling, almost making him jump back even though he’d been the one to initiate it.

            With his hand, he reached up, cupped the side of Shion’s neck. Tilted his head, just a few degrees until Shion’s breaths skated across his lips.

            “You can say no,” Nezumi offered, feeling the quickness of Shion’s breaths, forgetting his attempt to be selfish and willing to give up what he wanted, worried that Shion was scared of him and terrified at the thought of that, that he was pressuring Shion, that he was demanding from Shion the way he had when Shion had been his hostage.

            Nezumi couldn’t stand the thought that he’d ever tied Shion to his bed. That he’d ever stood over him as Shion peed. That he’d ever checked the rope on Shion’s legs to make sure it was tight enough.

            “I don’t want to say no,” Shion whispered, and Nezumi didn’t hesitate.

            He closed what was hardly a gap between them and kissed Shion gently, the heat of his lips muted like early morning sunlight, soft and flickering and growing with each second.

            Nezumi lifted his other hand, wove his fingers through Shion’s hair, pulled him closer, kissed him deeper, felt Shion’s hands slide around his waist, tighten around his body until Shion was hugging him.

            Nezumi had been touched, in the year since he’d seen Shion. But he’d never felt a thing. Drank so that he wouldn’t feel anything, but now he was sober and felt all of it, overwhelming and far too much and he’d never have enough.

            It was Shion who leaned away first, but Nezumi didn’t mind so much. He needed to breathe, and did so deeply while Shion looked at him, touched his own lips.

            “I forgot how it felt to be kissed by you,” Shion said.

            Nezumi said nothing. He’d said everything he had, and he still didn’t think it was enough.  

            It wasn’t. Shion was stepping back from him, dropping his hand from his lips. “I’ll come back tonight,” he said, and then he turned again, and this time, Nezumi didn’t call him back.

            Sunlight poured into the hallway, a burst of light while Shion opened the door to let himself out of the apartment building, and then the door closed and the hallway was dim again, seemed somehow darker than before even though the single lightbulb was still casting its delicate light as far as it could reach.

*


	17. Chapter 17

Shion made it four blocks away, to the docks where the water glistened with the sunlight it trapped, before he started crying.

            His eyes had been burning since Nezumi had asked to kiss him, the unexpected honesty from Nezumi startling and terrible.

            Shion had not realized the burden it would be, to be wanted by a man like Nezumi. By a man with the capacity to want the way Nezumi did, the capacity to long for and desire, the capacity to need. Shion didn’t think Nezumi felt things the way most people did. Nezumi felt them in a greater sense, his emotions inhuman.

            His anger, true and concentrated, was terrifying, deadly. His irritation was sharp and potent. His laughter was loud and unexpected. His sadness was nightly and consuming. His want, when he allowed himself to feel it, was desperate and stripped, raw and bare, and too much because it was not something he was accustomed to, not something he knew to contain, not something he let himself experience enough to tame.

            Shion loved to be the subject of Nezumi’s feelings. But he couldn’t think. He got swept into the whirlwind of Nezumi too easily, got caught in his storm, drenched in the man and forgot to dry himself off.

            To hurt Nezumi felt worse than a crime. Felt worse than any immorality, any unjustness, any fault or wrongdoing. It carved Shion, hollowed him until he was nothing but grief and regret, and he didn’t know how to prevent this.

            He didn’t want to hurt Nezumi, but worse than hurting him now would be to let Nezumi hurt himself later. If Shion gave him the chance, Nezumi would again and again stand between guns and Shion’s body. He’d escape from imprisonment to see Shion while there was an armed soldier stationed to shoot him on any escape attempt. He’d get a death sentence just to touch Shion. He’d turn himself into an alcoholic just to stop thinking about Shion.

            Nezumi had lost everyone in his life, and to lose Shion was not an option for him, and Shion understood this, understood his responsibility in this equation.

            Shion wiped at his eyes. Stayed on the docks until he couldn’t stall any longer and headed back to Nezumi’s apartment even though it was only midday.

            Shion didn’t need until nightfall to know that keeping Nezumi safe was more important than keeping Nezumi beside him.

*

Nezumi had just gotten out of the shower when there was a knock on his door.

            He stopped rubbing his towel over his skin and tugged on a pair of boxers before opening it.

            “You’re wet,” Shion said.

            “I thought you needed time to think.”

            “I did think.”

            “It hasn’t been an hour,” Nezumi objected. Shion’s cheeks were pink, and his eyes were wet, and Nezumi didn’t want to know what that meant.

            “It’s been an hour and a half.”

            Nezumi’s hair was wet and cool on his bare shoulders. He felt as drops of water dripped down his chest and the sides of his arms. He hadn’t had time to dry it properly. “What’s the verdict, Your Majesty?” he asked quietly.

            He’d showered in hot water that drained him. Shaded his skin and loosened his muscles, took everything out of him so that there was nothing left. He wouldn’t make Shion stay if Shion didn’t want to. He wouldn’t do anything to Shion if Shion was pulling away.

            Shion’s smile was small, looked accidental. “I love that nickname,” he said.

            Nezumi knew this. He used the nickname because he knew this.

            “Do you think we could kiss again?” Shion asked, looking uncertain of his own question, and Nezumi didn’t bother thinking about whether Shion only asked so that they could have a last kiss, a kiss before he left, a kiss to remember.

            Nezumi didn’t care. He walked into the doorway in front of Shion and bent down and kissed him hard, not like before, not soft but fully and roughly.

            Shion kissed him back, and soon his hands were in Nezumi’s hair, and then he was laughing against Nezumi’s lips, startling him so that Nezumi leaned back.

            “What?”

            Shion’s smile was incredible.

            “Your hair is really wet, it surprised me,” he said, through his grin.

            Nezumi reached up, dragged the pad of his thumb hard over Shion’s lips to stain it with Shion’s grin before he kissed Shion again, then pulled Shion into his apartment by his sweater.

            He heard the door slam closed, assumed Shion had kicked it, pulled Shion to his mattress and tugged him down onto it.

            They kneeled and kissed each other, Shion taking off his sweater and then the shirt he wore underneath, and Nezumi let Shion push him onto the mattress on his back, his hair cool where it was trapped between the bed and his shoulder blades.

            Shion tasted oddly salty, but Nezumi liked the strangeness of this, wanted more of it. Shion sat up from hovering over him to kick off his shoes and pull off his jeans, and Nezumi sat up, kissed down from Shion’s shoulder to his elbow and then realized that Shion was pulling off his boxers as well.

            Nezumi reached out, wrapped his hand around Shion’s arm to stop him.

            “Wait.”

            “Hm?” Shion asked, turning, kissing Nezumi before he could say anything, and Nezumi forgot what he was going to say, kissed him back, hands in Shion’s hair and around Shion’s neck, lying back down, Shion over him, Shion’s hand in Nezumi’s boxers, and Nezumi remembered again, untangled his fingers from Shion’s hair to reach down and pull on Shion’s wrist.

            “What?” Shion asked, lips against Nezumi’s.

            “I – ” Nezumi swallowed. Let Shion kiss him again, a deep kiss that fell all the way through him, and he was hard and knew he had to stop.

            “Where’s your lube?” Shion asked, into Nezumi’s neck, and Nezumi let go of Shion’s wrist to reach back up, place his hands on Shion’s shoulders, push him up gently.

            “Wait, Shion.”

            “What? What’s wrong?” Shion asked, blinking, focusing, looking down at Nezumi with concern now.

            Nezumi opened his lips. His skin felt hot, and he ignored that.

            “What is it?” Shion asked again, softly now, tucking Nezumi’s wet bangs behind his ear.

            “I – ” Nezumi exhaled hard, tried to start again. “Shit. I need to get tested. I should to get tested before we do anything.”

            Shion blinked, the crease between his eyebrows smoothing. “Oh.”

            Nezumi tried to make his breaths more even. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

            “Oh – No. It’s okay.”

            “I’d – We could use a condom, but I don’t have any, and even if you do – I don’t want to chance it, just in case…You know, if it was something serious.”

            Shion stared, then sat up. “You think you have something serious?”

            Nezumi pushed himself onto his forearms. “No. I don’t want to risk it, that’s all. I’m sure I’m clean.”        

            “Why don’t you have any condoms?”

            Nezumi didn’t have an answer. He looked away from Shion’s face, down at his chest to look at his scar. He wanted to trace it, but felt as if he couldn’t touch Shion.

            “That’s not safe, Nezumi.”

            “Yeah,” Nezumi said, the word hollow.

            “You never use a condom?”   

            “Shion, can we not do this right now?”

            “But that’s just stupid.”

            Nezumi breathed out a quick stream of air through his nose. He wanted to get up, but Shion was still on top of him, straddling him, probably feeling his hard-on through his boxers.

            “How are you sure that you’re clean if you don’t use condoms?”

            “I’m not sure,” Nezumi snapped, unable to help himself.

            “You just said you’re sure you’re clean.”

            Nezumi looked up at Shion again, at his slightly narrowed eyes. “Can you get off me?”

            Shion kept looking at him with something that looked like confusion, but then he was sliding off of Nezumi onto the mattress beside him, and Nezumi sat up.

            “Shouldn’t you be more concerned about this?” Shion asked, and Nezumi stood up.

            He went to his piles of clothing, looked for something clean to put on.

            “I don’t know why you’re acting so caught off guard after relentlessly accusing me of having herpes last night.”

            “I didn’t accuse you of having herpes.”

            Nezumi found a pair of sweats, sniffed them, then pulled them on. “And some other things. Gonorrhea was among them, I think, but you said diarrhea.”

            “I don’t remember that, but if it’s true, I was clearly justified.”

            Nezumi sighed, turned to look at Shion, who was still sitting on the mattress. “Look, I’m sure I’m fine.”

            “See, you’re saying it. You’re saying you’re sure, but you can’t really be sure.”

            “I’m comforting you!”

            “What about you? Don’t you care? It’s your body, shouldn’t you be the one caring?” Shion demanded, and then he was standing up, shaking his head, stooping down to grab his sweater and pulling it on.

            “Why are you getting worked up? I feel like an asshole, all right, let’s drop it.”

            Shion paused with his jeans pulled over one leg. “I don’t want you to feel like an asshole, Nezumi. I’m not upset that we can’t have sex. I’m upset that you don’t care. That’s the whole problem, isn’t it? And I knew this, I knew this, and I just let you win me over with your _Your Majesty,_ ” Shion said, mumbling by the end of it so that Nezumi wasn’t sure he’d heard him right.

            Nezumi watched Shion finish pulling on his jeans, find his t-shirt, pick it up, sigh and put it down to yank off his sweater and then pull on his t-shirt first, his sweater afterwards.

            “Can I ask what you’re talking about?” Nezumi asked, when Shion was successfully dressed.

            Shion looked at him. “I decided we’re not a good idea. I don’t think we should be in a relationship. And I came here to tell you this, and then you _Your Majesty-ed_ me, and I couldn’t help it, it’s so hard to think around you, that’s why all of this has happened.”

            Nezumi took a step forward. “Did you say I – What – I _Your Majesty-ed_ you? What is that supposed to mean?”

            Shion’s hands were in fists. He stood in the middle of Nezumi’s mattress with only one sock on. “It means I love you too, and I want you too, and I miss you all the time too! And when I’m around you it’s hard to remember that anything is more important than those things. But I haven’t turned myself into a self-destructive alcoholic, I don’t have unsafe sex and not even care about the possible dangerous ramifications to my body and life. It’s not your fault, I know that, I know this has been hard for you. I did this to you, I’m the reason you’ve stopped caring about your own well-being when before me you were meticulous about your own survival.”

            Nezumi pushed his wet bangs off his forehead. “I’m not a child, Shion. I’m responsible for my actions, not you.”

            “You’ve stopped taking care of yourself.”

            “Because I’m tired of the shit that my life is, Shion. When you leave, it’s just going to go back to the shit it was, so I don’t see how that’ll change anything.”

            “So it’s my fault if I leave and you let yourself die from some STD?” Shion countered, hands on his hips.

            “Nothing is your fault, and I’m not going to die from an STD, really, you’ve gotten far too dramatic, it’s become rather difficult to take anything you say seriously.”

            “We’re not good for each other, Nezumi,” Shion said, voice hard, and Nezumi had intended to let Shion make his own decision, but that was proving incredibly idiotic.

            Nezumi walked over to Shion, stood on the mattress in front of him. “Yeah, I’ve made some terrible choices in the past year. I wasn’t being healthy. I was tired of my life and tired of missing you and I stopped caring. When you’re here, I want to care. I don’t know how you can think you’re bad for me. You’re the only good thing I’ve ever had, and it really sucks without you. You piss me off and have to argue about everything all the goddamn time, but I’ll argue about this with you every day if that’s what you want. I hate begging you to stay here, but I’ll do it every hour if it’ll keep you here. I don’t know what to tell you so that you understand. You seem to want to convince yourself this can’t work, and I don’t understand that. If you think you’re better off without me, then say that, just say that and leave, Shion. But don’t say that I’m better off without you because I’ll never believe that, and I’ll never accept that, and I’ll never let you go for that.”

            Shion touched the waistband of Nezumi’s sweats. Trailed his finger an inch around his waist and nothing more. “You love me.”

            Nezumi glanced at Shion’s fingers resting on his skin. “That’s nothing new.”

            “It’s why you got shot. And why you have a death sentence in the Gold District.”

            “I’m all right with that.”

            “I’m not.”

            “Stop trying to protect me. I’m a big boy, Shion, I can take care of myself, I’ve been doing it my whole life.”

            “You haven’t been doing it the past year,” Shion countered.

            “You haven’t been here the past year, and if you had been, I wouldn’t have started drinking or fucking people without protection, so I really don’t see what point you’re trying to make,” Nezumi snapped.

            “The point is that before me, you never had these self-destructive habits – ”

            “We can’t turn back time. There’s never going to be a before you anymore. It’s always just going to be after you, that’s just how it is. Whatever risk you think you pose in my life, I can assure you, you’re being dramatic. You’ve gotten very fond of causing scenes since I last saw you, I can’t say I like this change.”

            “No matter how much I try, I can’t justify the way I’ve turned your life from what it was to what it is now,” Shion insisted, and Nezumi closed his eyes, breathed deeply, exhaled hard and opened his eyes again.    

            “The door’s right there. I’m not going to stop you. If you want to leave, leave, Shion. You know how I feel and you know what I want. You’re being stupid and stubborn and you’re not listening to what I’m saying – ”

            “I am listening – ”

            “You’re not! You want to leave. You think you’re better without me, and yeah, you are, you’re right, you think I don’t know that? You’ve been making bullshit argument after bullshit argument to justify leaving as if it’s against your will. You say you want to stay but that you can’t, you keep saying that you can’t, and that’s not true, we both know that. You can stay, you’re just coming up with excuses and rambling on to pretend they make sense, and I haven’t got the patience for any more bullshit about how you ruin my life when I’ve told you again and again that you don’t. I’m serious, stop giving me bullshit. If you want to leave, just go.”

            “I don’t want to leave,” Shion said, stepping forward, and Nezumi stepped back, off the mattress.

            “Then fine, that’s settled.”

            Shion’s eyes creased. “I don’t want to, but – Nezumi, it’s not bullshit, I promise, I just know it’s better for both of us if – ”

            “I said I didn’t want to hear more excuses,” Nezumi interrupted.

            “It’s not an excuse!”

            “Get out of my apartment if you don’t want to be here!” Nezumi shouted, and Shion stared at him, and Nezumi waited for him to argue, but he didn’t.

            He wiped at his eyes and got off the mattress, stooped to put on his other sock and then his shoes, then went to the door, opened it, turned back.

            “You know I love you.”

            “If you leave, what the hell does that matter?” Nezumi replied flatly, and Shion looked pained, but he didn’t stay.

            He walked out the door, closed it behind him, and was gone.

*

Shion got back to the Gold District late, and by the time he was through security and letting himself into Safu’s place with the key she’d given him years before, it was almost midnight.

            Shion knew she would be asleep. She had work the next day, and technically, so did Shion. He didn’t intend on waking her, planned on slipping into bed beside her just to know he wasn’t alone and falling straight to sleep, but instead he was curling into her back the moment he was under the blanket, shaking against her so that she shifted and turned.

            “What – Shion? When did you get here? Oh, are you crying?”

            “I didn’t mean to wake you,” Shion managed, wiping at his eyes as Safu scooched down so their faces were level.

            “What happened? Did you just get back? I was so worried about you when you didn’t call like you said you would, I left a hundred voicemails. Is he okay? Nothing happened to Nezumi, right?”

            “No, he’s okay,” Shion whispered, feeling Safu’s fingers in his hair.

            “But something happened. Has he – Has he moved on? Oh, Shion, you’re so much better than – ”

            “He didn’t,” Shion interrupted, moving his hands from his eyes so he could look at Safu fully. “He didn’t move on. He asked me to stay. He asked me to be with him.”

            Safu was quiet for a moment. “Isn’t that what you want too?”

            “I want him to have a better life. Every time I go near him, something goes wrong for him. His whole life, he’s never had it easy, and I just want it to be easy for him. I just want him to have a chance at something easy.”

            “But he doesn’t want easy. He wants you.”

            “He’s not thinking about what will be best for him!” Shion objected, not wanting to have this argument with Safu too, not wanting to have to justify himself because he had done the right thing, he knew that, it felt horrible but it was right, it had to be right.

            “I think Nezumi knows what is best for him.”

            “You don’t know him like I do.”

            “And you don’t know him like he knows himself. He’s been alone for all his life and then he met you and now you’ve left him. How is that what’s best for him?” Safu asked gently, and Shion pressed his palms to his eyes.

            “You didn’t see him. I’ve ruined his life,” Shion admitted, a whisper, his shame hot and thick in his chest.

            Safu didn’t say anything, and then her arms were slipping around Shion, and Shion sank into her. He breathed against her t-shirt. She smelled flowery and clean and a little bit like cotton.

            “It’s okay,” she said quietly, and it wasn’t, but Shion didn’t mind that she lied to him.

            Shion didn’t want the truth.

*

The music was loud, but Nezumi could barely hear it.

            He could not seem to stand up, and held tightly to the pole. He’d had a lot to drink. He thought this was because he’d been upset, but he couldn’t remember if this was true.

            He didn’t know what was true. He didn’t know anything, and then his eyes were closing, and he was letting go of the pole and falling, and he didn’t mind at all.

            Nezumi was very drunk, and nothing was wrong.

*

Shion stood in line behind a girl who was renewing her library card. He picked at the library sticker on the back of his book before he realized what he was doing and stopped himself, only to realize he was picking at it again a minute later.

            And then the girl was moving out of line, and Shion stepped up to the librarian behind the counter.

            “Shion.”

            “Hi, Kazuo.”

            The librarian – Kazuo, Shion tried to use his name in his head, tried to make the librarian more than the librarian – smiled lightly and pushed up his glasses. They were a different pair than when Shion had been seeing the librarian. Dark green frames instead of black.

            “I thought you were avoiding me.”

            Shion bit the inside of his cheek. Slid his book onto the counter. “I was. Sorry.”     

            “That’s all right. It’s been a while, it’s good to see you. How are you?”

            Shion watched the librarian slide his book under the scanner, then rest his hand on the receipt printer so he could tear the receipt the moment it came out.

            “I’m – ” Shion started over, not knowing how he was. “Do you want to get coffee sometime?”

            The librarian ripped out the receipt after it printed. Opened the book Shion had chosen – a book whose title he could not remember, as he’d chosen it more or less blindly from a random shelf – and placed the receipt inside.

            He closed the book, slid it back across the counter, and Shion peeked up at him to see that the librarian’s cheeks were pink.

            Shion remembered this about him. Pink cheeks and an easy smile. Black-rimmed glasses that were green now, but Shion liked them still.

            “Is an hour from now too desperate for me to suggest?” the librarian asked, and Shion reached out, took his book.

            “I’m free,” he said.

            “Your mother’s bakery?” the librarian – Kazuo, Shion reminded himself – suggested.

            “Let’s go somewhere else. I’ll meet you here in an hour,” Shion said, and the librarian’s smile grew, so easily, just like that.

            “See you soon, Shion,” he said.

            When Shion left the library, he looked at the book he’d picked out. It was a title he hadn’t heard of and a book he knew he wouldn’t read.

            He turned to the book depository bin beside the entrance for people who wanted to return their books without actually going into the library and slipped his book into it before walking to a bench across the street to wait for the hour to pass.

*

Nezumi’s manager’s name was Tsubaki.

            Nezumi knew this, of course, but he never actually said the name aloud to Tsubaki themselves or otherwise. He did not generally speak much to his manager, and when he did, he preferred not to use his manager’s name, which, if he thought about it, was probably because of the way his manager had first told him.

            _My name’s Tsubaki, by the way. Like the flower. You had a Shion in your life, and now you have a Tsubaki._

            His manager had laughed while Nezumi stared at them. It was the day his manager had given Nezumi the job, but Nezumi had been tempted, in that moment, to leave the bar and not return.

            He’d known his manager knew who he was, and by default, knew about Shion. But he’d detested, since that first day, his manager’s comfort in mentioning Nezumi’s past as if it was their right to mention it.

            Now, Nezumi had worked for Tsubaki for almost a year. Nezumi was in the hospital being informed that his stomach had been pumped and he was hooked up to IVs to replenish his vitals. The doctor told him that his manager had saved him from alcohol poisoning, and then left the room.

            “You can thank me at any time,” Tsubaki said, from Nezumi’s bedside.

            Nezumi sat up and poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the bedside table. He drank it without looking at Tsubaki. His throat hurt, and he ignored that too.

            “Sooner rather than later is preferable,” Tsubaki continued, and Nezumi glanced at them.

            “Why are you here?” his voice was scratchy. Nezumi guessed this was due to the tube that’d been shoved down his throat.

            “Weren’t you listening to the doctor? To save your life.”

            “It’s saved. You can go now.”

            “Where’s Shion?”

            “I’ll be back at work tomorrow. Is there anything else you need?” Nezumi asked, collecting his hair off the sides of his face and neck and pulling it up into a ponytail.

            While he tried to slip his hairband off his wrist, he tugged it against the IV in the back of his hand and cursed, dropped his hair and looked at his wrist, realized his hairband was stuck there because of the IV.

            “This is annoying,” he muttered.

            “I guess he left. Don’t tell me you made him go,” Tsubaki said.

            “We’re not friends,” Nezumi snapped, looking up from the IV sticking out of his hand to glare at his manager.

            “Who? You and Shion?”

            “Me and you. We’re not friends. I work in your bar and you pay me, that’s it.”

            “No offense, but you look like you could use a friend, honey.”

            “Why don’t you let me decide what I could use, how does that sound?” Nezumi snapped.

            “Does this mean you’re not going to thank me for saving your life?”

            “You didn’t save my life.”     

            Tsubaki raised their eyebrows. “I certainly did. You passed out on my stage, and I can assure you if I didn’t shove my fingers down your throat to get you to throw up those last four doubles you downed, even the hospital pumping your stomach would have been too late. I know this because a cute ER nurse informed me of it while giving me his number. Do you think I should call him? He was taller than me, which I don’t normally go for.”

            Nezumi pointed. “This is what I’m saying. Don’t tell me about your life. I don’t give a shit.”

            “You can be rather rude, it’s a character flaw you should work on. And ungrateful.”

            “Get out, Tsubaki.”

            Tsubaki’s eyes widened. “You know, that’s the first time you’ve ever said my name. I thought you’d forgotten it.”

            “Get out,” Nezumi snapped.

            Tsubaki leaned forward. “I can’t have you passing out on my stage, Nezumi. It freaks out the lovely patrons. The drunker they are, the more freaked out they get.”

            “I won’t pass out again.”        

            “It’d be especially terrible if you died on my watch. A liability. My bar supplies the drinks that you drink too much of, you see?” 

            “Yeah, I get it, it won’t happen again.”

            Tsubaki rubbed their chin. “I like the business you’ve given me, Nezumi, I won’t lie. Letting you go would be rough, a huge hit in sales. The patrons will miss you. I’ll lose some regulars you’ve gathered for me.”

            “Are you firing me?”

            “I really hate to do it.”

            Nezumi narrowed his eyes. “Are you serious?”

            “Are you a liability?”  

            “No, I’m not a fucking liability.”

            “What happened to Shion?”

            “Are you kidding me?” Nezumi nearly shouted.

            “The reason you came to my bar is because of that cutie. The reason you nearly died on my stage is because of him too. Do I have to fire you over him, or can you separate your rampant emotions from your job?” Tsubaki asked, their voice cool and even and patronizing, and Nezumi debated whether or not to hit them.

            “You don’t know anything about me, Tsubaki.”

            Tsubaki smiled. “You’re the infamous border area kidnapper who fell head over heels for his out-of-his-league Gold District hostage, and then went crazy for it and tried to start a war. The entire country knows everything about you, Nezumi. Don’t kid yourself.” They stood up, wrapped their hand around Nezumi’s wrist, squeezed briefly, and let go before Nezumi could move his arm away. “Be good, I’ll see you at work tomorrow. Don’t be late. And you’re cut off from drinking at my bar, that means no buying drinks or accepting free drinks from patrons. You’re on thin ice. See you, Nezumi.”

            Nezumi watched his manager leave the hospital room, then stared at the IV on the back of his hand again.

            He contemplated it for a second, then reached out with his other hand and yanked it out, his skin ripping as he did so. He tossed the IV to the side before gathering his hair again, pulling it up into a ponytail, and tying it with his hairband that slid right off his wrist, unhindered.

*

It was some hour of the early morning when Shion slipped out of the librarian’s bed and tiptoed to the bathroom.

            He peed without turning on the light, then looked in the mirror, his reflection coming into focus slowly as his eyes adjusted to the dark.

            He smiled into the mirror, the same smile he’d been offering the librarian all night, and decided it was just believable enough.

            He left the bathroom and returned to bed, slipping under the blanket beside the librarian, who shuffled as Shion settled, his hand reaching out, winding around Shion’s waist.

            Shion stayed very still and listened to the breaths of the librarian deepen beside him before he wrapped just his thumb and forefinger around the librarian’s wrist, lifted it off of his torso, and laid the librarian’s limp arm between their naked bodies.

            Free from the librarian’s touch, Shion rolled onto his side and tried to fall back asleep.

*

True to their word, Nezumi’s manager did not allow Nezumi to drink alcohol from the bar when he returned to work.

            There were signs around the bar to inform the patrons of this new policy.

            _Don’t Offer Nezumi Drinks, Thank You!_

_To Show Nezumi Your Appreciation, Slip Him Cash Instead of a Drink!_

_If Our Bouncer Sees You Offer Nezumi a Drink, He’ll Probably Hit You – Hard!_

_Our Lovely Dancer Nezumi is an Alcoholic. If You Give Him a Drink, We’ll Kick You Out._

_Nezumi Used to Like Double Vodkas. Now He Likes Water. Give Him a Cup, It’s Free!_

            Nezumi, therefore, drank before he came into work, buying handles of vodka three times a week to sustain this habit. Because he couldn’t drink throughout the night, he came in plastered but sobered after a few hours. He hated this.

            “Is this necessary?” Nezumi asked his manager, on seeing a new sign taped on the side of the stage beside his pole a week after his near overdose.

            It read – _If You Want Nezumi to Come Home with You After His Shift, He’s Just as Likely to do so Sober. He’ll Actually be Capable of Arousal, and He Won’t Pass out in the Middle of Sex. Keep Nezumi Sober to Guarantee Your Sexual Satisfaction!_

            Nezumi ripped it off the stage and crumpled it while Tsubaki laughed from behind the bar.

            “That one was just a joke, I thought you’d find it funny. It’s funny because it’s true, don’t you think?”

            “Fuck yourself,” Nezumi muttered, climbing onto the stage and wishing he’d drank more before coming in.

            It was hours later when Nezumi was halfway into his shift that his sobriety had kicked in fully. He headed off the stage, went to the bathroom, and was splashing his face with water when he sensed a guy uncomfortably close to him.

            Nezumi looked up at the mirror. The guy wasn’t cute, but he would do.

            Nezumi turned and smiled at him. Ten minutes and a blow job later, Nezumi was rinsing out his mouth with a bottle of vodka the guy had bought for him at the liquor store two shops down from the bar. He chugged a fourth of it, then a half, then a couple more sips for good measure, glad for the burn of it, wanting to sterilize his lips and tongue and the roof of his mouth and the insides of his cheeks and his entire throat.

            He left the bottle in the bathroom, surprised to find it nearly empty when he was certain he’d stopped after half, before returning to his pole. He spun twice before vomiting onto the stage and a little off of it, catching a few of the patrons including his friend from the bathroom.

            Nezumi was on his knees, one hand still on the pole, and closed his eyes.

            He couldn’t remember why he’d drank so much, he couldn’t remember why he’d wanted to be drunk that desperately, and he so was relieved not to remember that he didn’t care at all as he continued to vomit, the music loud, loud, loud in his ears, ceaseless and numbing.

*

Shion didn’t recognize the number calling him, and therefore didn’t pick up his phone. Half a minute after it stopped ringing, his phone blipped, and he glanced at the screen to see a voicemail notification.

            “Who’s that?” the librarian asked.

            “Do you mind if I listen to a voicemail? I don’t know the number.”

            “Of course.”

            Shion took his napkin from his lap and put it on the table beside his plate before sliding his chair back and standing.

            He and the librarian were at a restaurant for breakfast. It was the librarian’s birthday.

            Kazuo. It was Kazuo’s birthday. Safu pointed out to him that he still referred to the librarian as the librarian around her, and he assured her he was trying not to. It had only been ten days since they’d started going out again. It would take time.

            Shion went outside to listen to his phone call. It was the end of winter, and in spots where the sun shone, Shion was almost warm, pushing up the sleeves of his sweater as he called his voicemail and put his phone to his ear.

            He recognized the voice immediately. It was Nezumi’s manager, the bartender at the bar.

            _“Shion, it’s Tsubaki, Nezumi’s manager from the bar. I don’t want to alarm you, but, uh, this is a bit alarming, so I hope you’re sitting down. If not, maybe lean on something. Or hold onto some sort of sturdy appliance. And if you’re in a public place, I advise you to not be. I’ll give you, you know, a moment to do one of the above, or some variation of one of the above. Steady yourself, basically. Shit, I shouldn’t do this over a voicemail.”_

            Shion took the phone from his ear. The voicemail wasn’t done, but Shion pretended it was. He exited out of it and slipped his phone in his pocket and realized, somehow, he was no longer in the sun at all, but complete shade.

            He looked up at the sun, and it’d been covered in a thick cloud, and Shion thought, really, that was too much, unnecessary, ridiculous. He didn’t need symbolism in his life. He didn’t need this, he really didn’t need this, and he turned back and went into the restaurant and returned to his table where the librarian – where Kazuo – was adding a packet of sugar to his coffee.

            Kazuo liked sugar. Nezumi did not like sweet things. Again, Shion realized it was too much. He hated this. He had the urge to take the packet of sugar from Kazuo’s hand and throw it to the floor, but he was too late, the sugar packet was emptied and Kazuo was stirring his coffee with his spoon.

            “Are you okay?” Kazuo asked. The spoon stopped stirring. Shion glanced up, saw Kazuo’s concern, raw and genuine.

            “I’m fine,” Shion said.

            “Was that – Who was that? You look pale.”

            “I don’t,” Shion said, even though he couldn’t see himself and to argue such a thing about his own color probably sounded ridiculous. He shook his head. “Sorry. No, I’m – That was the wrong number. They left bad news, but it was just the wrong number, so it shouldn’t really affect me.”

            “Oh. I’m sorry, that’s – That’s terrible. Do you think you should call them back?” Kazuo asked, and Shion tried to make sense of this.

            “Call them back?”

            “Well, if they were delivering bad news, I’m assuming it’s serious, and whomever they wanted to receive the news should probably receive it. Right? So you should call them back and let them know they have the wrong number so hopefully they can find the right one, the intended recipient, that is, and deliver the news. I can call them, if you’re too shaken. Drink some water, Shion, you really look shocked.”

            Shion stared at Kazuo, then realized what he was doing and put his glass of water to his lips to make himself stop staring.

            It made sense. He understood what Kazuo was saying. He didn’t know why he found the words so strange.

            “Did something really terrible happen to somebody?” Kazuo asked gently, reaching, squeezing Shion’s hand that was on the table, the one not holding the glass to his lips.

            Shion tilted the glass against his lips but didn’t drink any water. He was worried he’d choke. His throat felt incredibly tight, tightening by the second.

            “It’s okay,” Kazuo said, comfortingly, and Shion wanted to be comforted but he didn’t have anything to be comforted for.

            He didn’t know what Nezumi’s manager was going to say. He could guess, but he didn’t want to guess. He wanted to block the entire voicemail from his head. He wanted to push it back, farther and farther until it was stuck somewhere and couldn’t be dislodged.

            He wanted to be happy with the librarian – with Kazuo – and think of nothing but breakfast and what they might do for the rest of the day to celebrate the librarian’s – to celebrate Kazuo’s – birthday.

            Shion slipped his hand free from Kazuo’s comforting squeeze.

            “I lied,” he said.

            Kazuo tilted his head. “You lied?”

            “That wasn’t the wrong number.”

            Kazuo’s eyes flickered around Shion’s face, as if the answer to the mystery of the call could be found somewhere there. “Who was it?” he asked, after a moment, and Shion knew Kazuo had wanted him to just say it, he hadn’t wanted to have to ask at all.

            Shion tried to swallow but his throat was too tight, and it hurt. “I have to go. I’m sorry,” he said. It was Kazuo’s birthday. He remembered this again, an afterthought. He was ruining Kazuo’s birthday.

            “Go where? Shion, just stay here, sit for a second and talk to me. You can talk to me, you know. I know you think you can’t, about – about being a hostage, and the war that almost happened, and everything from a year ago, even Nezumi. But you can talk to me. I’m a good listener. I’m a good person,” the librarian said.

             Shion knew this. The librarian – Kazuo – was a good person. That was never in question. There was never any doubt. Shion never had to wonder if Kazuo was good or bad, if the things he’d done in his life were terrible or unforgivable.

            They weren’t. The librarian was good. He was kind, especially to Shion, and Shion knew this too.

            Shion clenched his cloth napkin in his hands. “I’m not over him,” he said, looking at Kazuo, thinking he might hurt the librarian, and that would be good, the librarian would have the sense to leave when he was hurt, would have the sense to protect himself.

            Kazuo didn’t leave. He looked at Shion carefully.

            “Nezumi,” Shion clarified, when Kazuo said nothing.

            Kazuo smiled a small smile. “Well, yes. I do know that. I know you loved him very much.”

            “That should bother you, shouldn’t it?”

            Kazuo pushed his glasses up his nose. “I met him, you know.”

            Shion took a breath, let it out slowly. “He told me.”

            Kazuo laughed softly, shook his head, his cheeks turning pink the way they did. “He’s certainly good looking. I guess I knew that, from the photographs on television, but in person there’s something about him. He has a magnetic way to him. And he’s very quiet, which I like. He’s like a library, almost, but I suppose that doesn’t make any sense.”

            Shion said nothing. He felt shame and awkwardness in alternating pulses.

            “Shion, I know the press talked a lot about the two of you, but I also know that you had a relationship, something real, completely outside of the press and what it could capture. I don’t begrudge you for being in love, that hardly seems fair. There’s no ultimatum of you getting over Nezumi by a certain date.”

            Shion stared down at his plate. He’d ordered toast and jam and only eaten a bite of it before the phone call.

            “Was that him? Was it Nezumi who left the voicemail?”

            Shion shook his head at his toast. “No. It was his manager. I think something happened to him.”

            “Ah. Something like…?” Kazuo said, and Shion looked up, waited for him to finish his question, but he didn’t.

            “I didn’t listen to the entire message,” Shion admitted.

            “Maybe you should.”

            “How can you be so understanding? It’s your birthday, shouldn’t you be telling me not to talk about him?” Shion demanded, and Kazuo put down the cup of coffee he’d lifted to his lips.

            Shion’s hands were in fists, but he wasn’t angry with the librarian. He wasn’t angry with Nezumi’s manager for leaving a voicemail he couldn’t listen to. He wasn’t angry with Nezumi, for whatever had happened to him that had his manager leaving him a voicemail he couldn’t listen to.

            He was angry with himself for leaving, for leading Nezumi to whatever happened to him that had his manager leaving him a voicemail he couldn’t listen to.

            Shion was angry with himself for hurting Nezumi, over and over, not stopping even when he tried, even when he was desperate to stop.

            “Shion, I don’t think any of this is about me. I think you should listen to that voicemail. You certainly shouldn’t worry about it being my birthday. I’m a grown man, birthdays don’t mean so much anymore.”

            Shion shook his head. Pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes. “I can’t listen to it.”

            “Oh, I see. I’m probably the last person you’d want to listen to it for you. Is there someone else who can? What about Safu?”

            Shion breathed. Dropped his hands. “Why are you like this?”

            “Like what?”

            Shion searched for the word. He wanted to say _happy._ He wanted to say _hopeful._ He wanted to say _gentle,_ or _kind,_ or _selfless_. He wanted to say _naïve._ He wanted to ask how Kazuo was the way Shion used to be, but he didn’t need to ask that, he already knew.

            Kazuo was a Gold District citizen. His life was good and he was good and he’d never been tainted or ruined until Shion – Shion would stain him, he knew he would, maybe he already had.

            Shion stood up abruptly. “You’re right, I’ll go see Safu.”

            “Let me drive you.”    

            “I can walk, her work is a few blocks from here.”

            Kazuo was standing up, taking his wallet from his pocket, extracting several bills and putting them on the table even though it was his own birthday breakfast. “I’ll walk you.”

            “You don’t have to – ”           

            “If you don’t have any objection, I’d like to,” Kazuo interrupted.

            Shion didn’t object. They left the restaurant and headed to Safu’s practice. It was the weekend, but she’d started working weekends.

            The librarian often held Shion’s hand when they walked places, but this morning he didn’t, and Shion forgot to notice until they were at Safu’s building.

            “Shall I come in with you?”

            “No, it’s okay. Kazuo, I’m really sorry about all of this – ”

            The librarian stepped forward. Touched Shion’s chin to tilt it up, and Shion let the librarian kiss him gently, a brief point of contact on the corner of Shion’s lips, hardly a kiss at all.

            “Don’t apologize. Call me if you need me, or just to let me know what’s happened if you feel that you can. I hope Nezumi is okay.”

            Shion nodded, and the librarian – Kazuo – walked away before Shion could remember to wish him happy birthday.

            He turned into the building, headed straight to Safu’s office and hoped she was between appointments, knocked on the door and heard Safu’s voice with relief.

            “Come in.”     

            Shion let himself in, saw Safu looking up from a book at her desk.

            “Shion? I thought you were spending the day with the librarian. I mean Kazuo.”

            “I got a voicemail. Can you listen to it?” Shion asked, closing the door behind him and stepping farther into Safu’s office, sitting on the chair in front of her desk.

            Safu stood up, came around her desk, leaned against it across from Shion. “Are you okay?”

            Shion unlocked his phone before offering it to her. “It’s the first voicemail.”

            “Have you listened to it?”

            “I couldn’t,” Shion admitted, as Safu pressed the phone to her ear, looking at Shion in a worried, puzzled way.

            Shion forced himself to watch her expression. After a few seconds, her hand lifted to her lips and her eyes widened. Shion felt the air pull from his lungs. He kept watching.

            “Oh, no,” Safu said, from behind her palm.

            Shion clenched his teeth. Safu’s eyes closed and he had to look away from her, stared at his knees, and then Safu was putting his phone on her desk, and Shion looked at it instead.

            “Is it bad?” he asked his phone.

            “Shion, I think you should listen to it.”

            “I need you to tell me, Safu,” Shion said, making himself look at her again, and her expression was pained, but she nodded.

            “Okay.” She took a breath. “It’s Nezumi, but you knew that, of course. He’s, well, last night he consumed large quantities of alcohol in a very short period of time, which affected his nervous system and resulted in very low blood sugar levels that led to a series of seizures. Which is not as uncommon a result of alcohol poisoning as one might think, but, um, in Nezumi’s case, there was a problem when he was being treated at the hospital, it sounds like it was an error on the hospital staff’s account with his IVs, Nezumi’s manager said it might have been intentional, but they didn’t really go into detail on that, something about a nurse having a relative in the Gold District that Nezumi might have kidnapped, but – ”

            “Safu. I can’t – Is he – ” Shion couldn’t make himself say it. He didn’t care about the details. He didn’t want any more. He just wanted to know what mattered, he just wanted to know if Nezumi was dead, he just needed to hear it.

            Safu shook her head. “I’m sorry, Shion. He’s – The air embolism from the IV caused all sorts of difficulties, at this point Nezumi’s manager was talking very quickly and it was hard to decipher all of the details. In the end, Nezumi was put into an induced coma just to stabilize him, but they’re having trouble getting him out of it.”

            Shion’s stomach curled around itself. He stared. “He’s not dead.”

            “No! No, he’s not, he’s not dead, oh, I didn’t realize that’s what you thought, I’m so sorry, no, he’s not dead,” Safu said quickly, then looked away from Shion, at his phone on her desk. “But – But they think it’s a possibility that…that he might not make it. I’m so sorry, Shion.”

            Shion didn’t want to process it. He wanted only to hear the words and let them stay at the surface level of his brain, not seep down, not mean anything real. “Because he can’t wake up from the coma they put him in after a nurse tried to kill him.”

            “I don’t really know the details, the voicemail got less and less specific, I think you should maybe just call Nezumi’s manager back.”

            Shion had no intention of doing that. “Why did they call me?”

            Safu blinked. “Oh. Well, actually, that’s – Nezumi’s manager – Tsubaki, right? – said Nezumi couldn’t really afford to be in the coma for a long time, it’s expensive, apparently, and he doesn’t have insurance, and they’ll have to take him out of it soon if they weren’t getting paid.”

            “But that would kill him.”

            “Well, yes, it seems that way.”           

            “The hospital can’t do that.”

            Safu looked helpless. “I really don’t know, Shion, I don’t know the details, I just know what the voicemail said. This Tsubaki called you under the assumption that you have money, and could keep Nezumi in his coma until a point where maybe they could take him out of it safely. Which, really, I don’t know if that’s a medically reasonable plan, it seems to me that the longer he’s in the coma, the more his body will rely on it, and the less likely it is that he’ll be able to, um,” Safu cut herself off, and Shion assumed it was something about his expression that led her to do so.

            He didn’t know what his expression was. He didn’t know what he felt. He kept trying to feel nothing at all, concentrated so much on this that it was hard to figure out what was slipping through the cracks.

            Safu leaned down, held Shion’s hands. “You should go see him. I’ll come with you.”

            “He’s going to die.”

            “You don’t know that.”

            “You just said he would.”

            “I said it’s likely,” Safu corrected, then cringed. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean – ”

            Shion freed his hands from Safu’s, shook his head, wanted to get up but he seemed sucked into Safu’s chair. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand. He’s not supposed to die, that doesn’t make sense – ”

            “Shion – ”

            “You’ve met him! You know him! He’s not somebody who dies, Safu, you know that too,” Shion insisted, and Safu just looked at him.

            “He isn’t dead,” she said softly.

            “I won’t go just to watch him die.”

            “He’d want you to see him a last time.”

            “What does it matter what he wants if he’s dead?” Shion shouted, accidentally shouted, he meant to be calm and tried to get back to that.

            “He’s not dead yet, Shion,” Safu insisted, then covered her lips with her hand again.

            “He’s not dead yet,” Shion repeated quietly, thinking about the _yet,_ the difference such a stupid word could make. He didn’t feel shock, necessarily. He didn’t feel any different, really, was doing better than he expected at not feeling anything except for the burning along the underside of his skin and the violent pulsing of his heart.

            “Shion. He’s been alone most of his life, and you can’t let him be alone now. You’re not in a relationship with him anymore, and it’s not your responsibility, but you’re the only one he has even if he no longer has you.”

            Shion tried reason. Logic. A cool emotion, a neutral stance. “If Nezumi knew I was visiting him in a coma, it would piss him off. He’d want to know what the point was of me being there when he didn’t even know it. He’d want to know why I’d bother coming now if I couldn’t stay before, when he was awake to be with me.”

            “I don’t think you should worry so much about what will piss Nezumi off.”

            “I thought you wanted me to move on.” Shion did not want to visit Nezumi. He did not want to see Nezumi. It would be impossible not to feel anything if he saw Nezumi.

            “I think we can put the moving on on hold right now, don’t you?” Safu asked. “Come on, let’s get to the airport, let me just tell my secretary to reschedule my appointments.”

            Shion let Safu pull him out of her chair because he didn’t have a choice otherwise. He reached for his phone as Safu headed out of her office, and as he followed her, trying to think of another excuse to avoid Nezumi, it started ringing. Shion silenced it quickly, glancing up to see that Safu was already gone, probably talking to her secretary.  

            On Shion’s screen was the same unknown number as before, but now it was not unknown.

            Shion sent the call to voicemail and pocketed his phone, deciding he wouldn’t listen to the voicemail or tell Safu about it, deciding to hold onto the fact that for all he knew, Nezumi wasn’t dead yet.

*

Nezumi wasn’t dead yet.

            He was not aware of anything at all, not even this fact.

            But he wasn’t dead yet.

*

Nezumi’s skin was blue. It took Shion twenty-four minutes of sitting and looking at it to touch it. He trailed the very tip of his forefinger from the crease where Nezumi’s palm met the inside of his wrist upwards to the bend of his elbow.

            The nurse accused of deliberately injecting an air bubble into Nezumi’s IV was on probation and would face a hearing. The nurse’s sister had been one of the first hostages Nezumi had kidnapped from the Gold District.

            The blue of Nezumi’s skin was not sky blue. It was not the blue of the ocean or the blue of the hospital gown Nezumi wore. It was not the blue of the lid of the water jug on the bedside table. It was not the blue of the cushion of the chair Shion sat on.

            It was a blue of sallow skin. A vein-colored blue. Translucent, sickly, hardly blue at all. Only noticeable as blue because it wasn’t Nezumi’s normal skin color, it was a tint, and it was wrong.

            Shion lifted his finger from the crease of Nezumi’s elbow. Touched Nezumi’s lips, which were the bluest part of him. He hovered his fingers below Nezumi’s nose, and it was several seconds before he felt anything. When he felt something, it was not breath. It was hardly air. It was not an exhale, the way exhales were supposed to be. It was an exhale the way exhales were not supposed to be, and Shion took his hand away, sat on it to keep it away from Nezumi and his blue skin and incorrect exhales.

            He’d written the hospital that tried to kill Nezumi a check to keep Nezumi in a coma. He would keep writing these checks, and Nezumi would stay in a coma, and Shion didn’t know how long this would last, or really, what the point was if Nezumi would never wake up.

            But Shion had a lot of money. He was from the Gold District, and he was privileged, and he had everything while Nezumi had nothing, so he didn’t mind at all giving his money away.

            It felt right, when nothing else could.

*


	18. Chapter 18

Nezumi felt the way he sometimes did at nights when he became aware that he was having a nightmare, but could not wake up from the nightmare despite this awareness.           

            And even knowing it was a nightmare did not make it any less terrifying. If anything, Nezumi felt more scared, trying to wake, knowing what was coming and what he needed to avoid if only he could wake, willing himself to consciousness but held tightly down by his nightmare for just a bit longer, just a bit longer, just a bit longer while his fear grew.

            Nezumi felt this, now. The pull of unconsciousness and the unattainable distance of waking. He felt now, too, the desperation to be awake, to untangle himself from what he knew was not real but that it felt real, it hurt just the same, there was smoke in his lungs and the weight of it was suffocating, he could hardly breathe, he could not move at all.

            Nezumi felt now, too, the exhaustion. The temptation to give up. To stay asleep and not wake and let whatever would come just happen, just take him, at least then the fear would be over, at least then the pain would be gone, at least then he could stop fighting because it was so hard to fight for so long, even Nezumi needed a break, even Nezumi reached a point where the will to survive was surpassed by the futility of his own efforts.

            Why bother? What was the point? He used to fear death, assumed to die was the worst possible fate, assumed to give up was the weakest point he could fall to, but he knew now he was wrong.

            He could be more pathetic than a dead person. He could be weaker, and worse off, and worth less alive than dead.

            Nezumi woke from every nightmare, even when it felt too late, even when his fear had stripped him of everything and he was shuddering and cold and felt hardly human.

            But some part of Nezumi knew that whatever state he was in now was not a nightmare. There was no guarantee of waking, and Nezumi wondered what might happen if he didn’t fight to open his eyes. He wondered what would happen if he just stopped fighting completely, if he just stopped, if it all just stopped – just for once, just forever.

*

Shion was pulled out of Nezumi’s hospital room by two nurses and Safu. He fought them until he couldn’t fight them, until he gave up and the nurses let go of him and it was just Safu holding on to him, but the weight he felt was stronger than her, and she only just managed to stop him from collapsing on the floor by lowering with him, steadying him.

            Their legs tangled together as they kneeled on the floor in the middle of the hospital hallway. Shion wasn’t crying and he didn’t think he was breathing either. He spoke Nezumi’s name without a voice at all, moving his lips against Safu’s shoulder, her hand in his hair, fingers combing gently. She was saying something, soft murmurs Shion couldn’t hear at all.

            In Shion’s pocket was another check for the hospital they had refused. They’d insisted that, based on calculations they’d explained to Shion three times when he made them repeat themselves, today, this moment, was the best time to take Nezumi off the assistive machines and coerce him out of his coma. Any longer, they said, and his body would become too dependent, would never be able to sustain itself off machinery.

            Shion had trusted them because he’d had no other option, but their calculations appeared to be off because Nezumi was not surviving, he was crashing, and Shion was being pulled out of the hospital room where Nezumi was dying – not that he wasn’t dying before, not that he wasn’t dying the previous four days Shion had slept in the chair by Nezumi’s bed, but now Nezumi was dying faster, now he was dying fully, now he was dying relentlessly.

            Shion didn’t move from the floor outside Nezumi’s hospital room, and Safu didn’t move either. Shion knew, even if he stayed very still, that Nezumi would die anyway. He didn’t stay still out of hope of freezing time, or out of a persistence to deny what was happening to Nezumi in the room he’d been escorted out of.

            Shion stayed still because he could not move. He didn’t have the willpower, he didn’t have the energy, he didn’t have anything left in him because Nezumi was gone, and Shion knew life would go on, that the world would turn, that the sun would rise and then fall again, but such irrelevant things as the continuance of the universe did not matter to Shion.

            What mattered was Nezumi, and he was dead, and to stand up from the floor of the hospital hallway was not even a thought Shion had the capacity to consider.

*

Their first kiss had been a ploy. Trick the Gold District security into thinking Nezumi was just a man in love with a Gold District citizen, not the kidnapper plaguing their district.

            Nezumi had intended for the kiss to be quick, but Shion had pulled him back, turned the stage kiss into a real kiss that almost made Nezumi forget the entire plan, that almost made Nezumi forget that he was a kidnapper at all, that he wasn’t just a man in love with a Gold District citizen, sneaking into the district just to see him for a few quick moments in the night.

The second kiss Nezumi had received from Shion had been in a hospital room.

            Nezumi had just been beaten by a discharged military officer. He was strapped to the hospital bed and his lip was split and when Shion had pulled away from the kiss, Nezumi had looked at his own blood coating Shion’s lips like a sunset.

            Their third kiss had been in Karan’s kitchen. Nezumi was on work release and Yumi stood at the door with a gun in her hand, guarding him. He hadn’t seen Shion in two weeks, since the hospital kiss, but then Shion was there, and then Shion was kissing him, and Nezumi hadn’t thought about it for a second, was kissing Shion back with flour on his palms that he’d rubbed over Shion’s clothes and hair and skin.

            Nezumi was trying to remember the fourth kiss. Shion was asleep beside him. Shion’s body coated Nezumi’s in different places – Nezumi’s entire left side where Shion’s torso and legs pressed to his. Across Nezumi’s waist where Shion’s arm fell. Across Nezumi’s left thigh and part of his right knee and right calf over which Shion’s leg was strewn. The entirety of Nezumi’s left arm, which Shion’s body was on top of. On top of Nezumi’s left shoulder, where Shion rested his cheek.

            When Nezumi breathed, his breaths jostled Shion’s hair. He watched the flicker of strands while he tried to remember their fourth kiss, realized it was probably immediately after their third, in Karan’s kitchen, and their fifth just after that, and maybe their sixth happened only after Shion pulled Nezumi up to his childhood bedroom above the bakery, but maybe that wasn’t until their seventh kiss, or their eighth.

            It was a long time ago, so more effort was required to remember, but it was a subject matter he was interested in, which Nezumi thought might aid the process of remembrance. Nezumi’s head felt heavy, his thoughts sluggish. He did not normally dwell on memories, but these were memories he didn’t want to forget. He didn’t think he had brain damage, but he couldn’t be sure. He knew he was in a hospital room because he was well-acquainted with hospital rooms by that point, but he didn’t know why he was in a hospital room, nor why Shion was lying halfway on top of him, numbing his left arm entirely, heating different parts of his body like his limbs were sunlight streaming through the slats of blinds in strips over Nezumi’s skin.

            Nezumi assumed his hospital visit was alcohol-related. He guessed alcohol poisoning. Maybe he’d passed out, like the last time, but it wasn’t like the last time because he didn’t wake up to Tsubaki’s sly grin; he’d woken instead to Shion asleep over his body.

            Nezumi had not been awake for very long. He couldn’t see a clock from where he lay, and he couldn’t move to look fully around the room because Shion was heavy and halfway on top of him, but he could guess it’d been no longer than twenty minutes when there was a knock on the door, and then the door was opening, and a nurse appeared with a clipboard.

            The nurse looked up from her clipboard. “Oh, you’re awake.”

            “He’s sleeping,” Nezumi whispered, tilting his head to indicate the man halfway on top of him, as if the nurse might not have noticed him despite the fact that Shion was, in general, very noticeable.

            Nezumi had noticed him. The first time, on the security video feed he’d just fixed at the compound of the Resistance Force. He’d noticed the man with strange white hair, running and stopping at the fence and yelling into the walkie talkie he’d stolen to demand that the compound guards to stop shooting.

            The nurse stared at Shion as if she indeed had not noticed him until that point. “I’ll get the doctor,” she said, not lowering her voice, and then she left the room.

            The door slammed shut behind her, and Shion jolted in a way that had pins and needles immediately shooting up and down Nezumi’s arm.

            “Ah, fuck,” Nezumi cursed.

            “You’re awake?” Shion asked, sitting up fully while Nezumi’s renewed arm circulation made it hard to focus on him.

            “Ow, are my fingers blue?” Nezumi asked, wanting to lift them and look at them but unable to move his hand at all to avoid agitating the already agitated pins and needles.

            “I’ll get the doctor – ”

            “A nurse just went for the doctor. Stay here a second and tell me if my fingers are blue.”

            Shion stared at Nezumi, then looked down at his fingers. “Why would they be blue?”

            “You were lying on my arm, I’m assuming for a decent amount of time, and I think you may have cut off my circulation. You’re incredibly heavy.”

            Nezumi did not ask Shion why he – why either of them – were in the hospital. He preferred to let the pins and needles in his arm be his biggest problem. For once, he wanted to have a small problem. A little mystery – the possible blueing of his fingertips due to Shion’s weight – and nothing bigger than that.

            He felt when Shion touched his fingers, a flickering of warmth. “They’re not blue,” Shion said, looking back up at Nezumi, who smiled at him, wanted to reassure him, not that Shion looked particularly worried, but he looked uncertain, as if he was contemplating problems bigger than pins and needles, problems bigger than fingertips that weren’t blue after all.

            “Are you lying?” Nezumi asked lightly, to keep the conversation on his not blue fingertips.

            “No, I’m not lying,” Shion said softly.

            Nezumi forgot to reply, to keep up this repartee. Shion’s hair was in clumps, like he hadn’t showered. There were creases on his right cheek, Nezumi assumed from the bunched fabric of his hospital gown that Shion had been lying against.

            Shion looked tired and beautiful, and Nezumi entertained the thought of asking Shion why he was here, if he’d really come back, why he’d come back and if he was going to stay this time or leave again, but he didn’t ask any of this.

            He didn’t ask, because there was another knock on the door, and then the same nurse as before was walking in followed by a woman in a doctor’s coat whom Nezumi assumed was a doctor.

            He took pride in his ability to label these people. Probably no brain damage. Not that Nezumi could think of a reason he’d have brain damage, but it was nice to rule it out.

            “Nezumi,” the doctor said, while Shion slid away from Nezumi’s side and then off the hospital bed completely.

            Nezumi pretended not to notice this.

            “I’m Ren, you’re leading doctor. You’ve given us quite the scare over the last few days, it’s nice to see you up. How do you feel?”

            The last few days. Nezumi considered. He could be hearing wrong, which meant something was wrong with his brain, which meant whatever had him in the hospital was not passing out from drinking too much.

            Or he could be hearing correctly, which meant he had been in the hospital for several days without waking, which also meant whatever had him in the hospital was not passing out from drinking too much.

            “Great,” Nezumi replied, deciding not to ask why he was in the hospital. He assumed, if it was important, someone would tell him. Otherwise, he was content to believe it was just passing out from drinking too much, and he’d just passed out for longer than usual.

            The doctor walked to the opposite side of the bed from where Shion stood and unearthed a small flashlight from her lab coat pocket. “Can you look at my nose?” she asked, and Nezumi looked at her nose while she shined her flashlight over his eyes.

            After waving it from side to side, the doctor clicked her flashlight off and pocketed it. She had a stethoscope around her neck and took it off to stick the ear pieces in her ears.

            “Do you think you can sit up for me?”

            Nezumi pushed himself up. His arm no longer had pins and needles. He hadn’t noticed them going away.

            It was harder to sit up than Nezumi had anticipated. Mostly, he felt tired on sitting, and ignored the odd wave of fatigue.

            He peeked at Shion while the doctor slipped her stethoscope under his hospital gown and told him to breathe deeply.

            “I’m okay,” he told Shion, who still looked, if not worried, then concerned, maybe, or maybe something else, Nezumi couldn’t be sure.

            He wasn’t sure of anything. He felt as if he was missing a very large block of time. He tried to think of what he last remembered, and all that came to mind was giving a guy in the bar bathroom a blowjob.

            He looked away from Shion and decided to stop remembering, which lasted about five seconds before the doctor was taking her stethoscope back and hanging it around her neck again.

            “Can you tell me the last thing you remember, Nezumi?” she asked, looking at the bag of clear liquid his IV was connected to before taking the clipboard from the nurse and looking at that.

            Nezumi wondered if he was allowed to lie down again. “I was at work.”

            “Okay. You’re a dancer, right? Can you be more specific with your last memory? Were you dancing?”

            “Yeah,” Nezumi said.

            “Were you drunk?”

            “I – Yeah.”

            “You were dancing and you were drunk?” the doctor asked, looking up from her clipboard.

            Nezumi blinked at her. “Yeah,” he said slowly.

            “Okay. Do you remember how much you drank?”

            “Does it matter?”

            “Sure. I’m trying to assess your memory.”    

            “A bottle of vodka. Not the whole thing.”

            “And that was before your shift. Your manager, Tsubaki, they brought you in and gave us most of your information. They said you aren’t allowed to consume alcohol within the bar.”

            “Tsubaki’s saving their ass, my manager is just concerned with liability. They don’t have to worry, the alcohol wasn’t from the bar. It was halfway through my shift. Someone brought me a bottle of vodka, and I drank most of it.”

            “And that’s what you remember last?”

            “Guess so. Look, my memory is fine.”

            The doctor looked at Nezumi for a long moment, then put down her clipboard. “Do you know why you were brought to the hospital?”

            “I’m assuming it had to do with the bottle of vodka.”

            “The large amount of alcohol you consumed in such a short period of time led to a severe decrease in your blood sugar levels that your body could not cope with. You were brought in vomiting and quickly began convulsing in a series of seizures.”

            Nezumi laid down, too tired to stay sitting.

            “While treating you, my colleague allowed an IV to be administered with an air bubble, and you suffered an air embolism. An air bubble entering the circulatory system is very serious. You immediately had a stroke, followed by a loss of consciousness. We got out the air embolism before it could travel further and put you in an induced coma to stabilize you.”

            The doctor stopped speaking and looked at Nezumi expectantly, as if Nezumi might have something to say to this news.

            He had nothing to say. He didn’t know anything about air bubbles in the bloodstream or why that should be so dangerous. He didn’t really care about the details of it.

            The doctor continued after a half minute of silence passed. “Last night, we took you out of the coma, and you went into cardiac arrest but were resuscitated. It’s been a week since you were admitted.”

            At this, Nezumi glanced at Shion. He was surprised it had been a week. He wanted to know for what percentage of this week Shion had been lying on his hospital bed, numbing his arm, warming his body in streaks of sunlight even when Nezumi wasn’t conscious to feel it.

            Shion was looking at him but still said nothing. Nezumi couldn’t figure out his expression. Looked back at the doctor, because she was easier to read.

            She was calm, collected. Very professional. Her presence was reassuring despite her words.

            “Do you have any questions for me, Nezumi?” she asked.

            “When can I leave?” Nezumi asked. He didn’t want to leave. If he left, Shion might leave. He wanted to ask, instead – _How long can I stay?_ – but thought that might be inappropriate.

            “Very soon. You came close to death a couple times, so with a case as serious as yours, we want to make sure there’s been no lasting damage. To me, you seem all right, but we’ll run some bloodwork, keep you on the IV a little longer, make sure you’re good to go. Once we take some blood samples and get the catheter out, which Mari will do for you when we’re done talking, you can roam around, leave our hospital room if you feel up to it so long as you take your IV stand, get something to eat at the cafeteria, stretch out your legs. I just ask that you’re back here in two hours, as I’ll be checking back in. I’d like to keep you another night, just to be sure, and so I can let you know in person about your blood work results when they come in tomorrow, but if that’s a problem, we can speak about that. You are not a prisoner here, I know some patients don’t like to be in hospitals for any longer than necessary, but I prefer to do a thorough job than have you leave prematurely and then get another visit from you a couple days down the line.”

            Nezumi tucked his hair behind his ears. It was greasy and in clumps. He dropped his hands to the sheet around his waist. “How much is all this?”

            “What do you mean?”

            Nezumi swallowed. He was thirsty and wished he could take his question back, replace it with a request for water.

            “I don’t think I can pay for this,” he said.      

            The doctor blinked, then looked at Shion, then looked at Nezumi again. She smiled for the first time since walking into the room. “Don’t worry about that. Worry about getting better. I’ll leave you with Mari for now, she can answer any other questions you might have. I need to see another patient, but I’ll be back in a few hours, and you can always have Mari fetch me if you need me.”

            Nezumi waited for her to leave before glancing at Shion, who was looking at him, his gaze a little harder now, as if he was ready to argue.

            Nezumi didn’t want to argue with him. Was too tired to argue with him. He asked just to know, not to argue.

            “Are you paying my bills?”

            “There’s nothing you can do about it,” Shion said, almost angrily.

            Nezumi didn’t say anything else. He didn’t want Shion to think he was arguing, and then the nurse was lowering Nezumi’s blanket, telling him she was going to take out his catheter, that he’d feel a pinch but to relax.

            Nezumi looked away from Shion. He stared at the ceiling and tried to relax.

*

Shion thought Nezumi was dead for seventeen minutes.

            Safu told him the time, later, when Shion no longer thought Nezumi was dead. Shion thought she must be mistaken. It had to be longer than seventeen minutes that they’d sat entangled in each other on the hospital hallway floor before Nezumi’s doctor came out of Nezumi’s room, crouched beside them, and told them he wasn’t dead after all.

            It felt like hours, that Shion had thought Nezumi was dead. It felt like days, even weeks passed of sitting on the cool tile, unable to move.

            Shion was still shaken from what felt like months of thinking Nezumi was dead. It’d been several hours since he thought Nezumi was dead, but he still felt weak from it, exhausted from it, hollowed from it.

            But, of course, Nezumi was not dead. He was alive, and then he was awake, and after the nurse took out his catheter and took samples of his blood and left the room, he was looking at Shion, who stood beside Nezumi’s bed on legs still unsteady beneath him.

            “Is there a pitcher of water on that table?” Nezumi asked, and Shion looked at the bedside table, at the jug of water with the blue lid he’d spent several nights looking at so he wouldn’t have to look at Nezumi and his blue skin.

            “Yes.”

            “May I have a glass of water?” Nezumi asked, after a moment, his lips twitching, and Shion poured him a glass of water, handed it to him, was aware of Nezumi’s fingers touching his when the cup was exchanged.

            Nezumi drank three cups of water before he was done, sliding the back of his hand that didn’t have the IV over his lips.

            He looked down at his hand with the IV. “I hate that they do this. They put the IV in and I can’t tie up my hair,” Nezumi complained, looking back up at Shion, who had thought this man was dead for seventeen minutes that’d felt like years.

            “I thought you were dead,” Shion said, because it was all he could think about, and the words came out without his intention.

            Nezumi tucked his hair behind his ears. “I’m not.”

            Shion nodded. “I know.”

            “I’m sorry you thought that.”

            “It wasn’t your fault. A nurse tried to kill you.”

            “Mari?”

            “No. The one who put in your IV when you were first admitted for the seizures. He’s on parole.”

            “What?” Nezumi asked. He looked confused, but more than that, he looked exhausted. He looked like it was taking everything he had in him to stay awake just to speak to Shion, and Shion didn’t want everything he had in him.

            He wanted Nezumi to keep some of his life for himself. To keep it safe and not give it to anyone, especially not Shion himself.

            “You kidnapped his sister. She’s a Gold District citizen.”

            Nezumi rubbed at his eyes. “Oh.”

            “You should go to sleep, you look tired,” Shion said.

            Nezumi didn’t stop looking at him. “So do you.”

            “I’m fine.”

            “You can lie down again. It’s a big hospital cot, I think they felt bad that one of their own tried to kill me and hooked me up with the king size.”

            “I should get something to eat,” Shion said, glancing at the door, looking back at Nezumi who looked more than just tired and confused now.

            He looked scared. A muted sort of scared. An exhausted sort of fear.

            He licked his lips. Looked at the door Shion had just glanced at, then back at Shion. “Okay,” he said, and his voice hitched, and Shion wished it hadn’t.

            Shion stepped away from the bed of the man he’d thought was dead for what had to be an eternity.

            “Shion. Wait, just –” Nezumi started, and his voice shook, and Shion hated that more than before.

            “Nezumi – ”

            “Just come back. I can’t do this right now, I can’t focus, so just come back and we’ll talk when I wake up again, okay?” Nezumi asked, his words quick, chopped, nervous.

            “Okay,” Shion said, just so that Nezumi would stop speaking.         

            At the door, Shion paused, turn back to watch Nezumi watching him, his tired eyes and his worry, his skin that wasn’t blue anymore, his hair that was greasy and in clumps around his face.

            Shion couldn’t remember falling in love with a man who looked like Nezumi did then. Who looked weak and small and breakable and open. Shion couldn’t remember falling for such a person, but now in this moment it seemed impossible not to be in love with him, it seemed a futile thing to ever try to stop his entire body from aching for him, it seemed a stupid thing to even want to stop being in love, to even think there could be anything more incredible and more terrible than to love this man who wasn’t dead, who was alive and still had time to be loved, maybe a long time, maybe a lifetime.

*


	19. Chapter 19

When Nezumi woke again, Shion was again on his bed.

            He was not lying on Nezumi’s arm, as he was not lying down at all. He was sitting beside Nezumi so that Nezumi could see his back and the way his arms were wrapped around his legs pulled up to his chest.

            Shion wasn’t looking at him, but across the room until Nezumi said his name, and Shion turned just his head, peering at Nezumi from the sides of his eyes.

            “You okay?” Nezumi asked. He pushed himself up so he was sitting too. He had more energy now, felt better than before. Mostly, he felt hungry.

            “You’re negative,” Shion said, after a moment.

            Nezumi thought about touching Shion’s hair, where a few strands were caught in his eyelashes, shifted every time he blinked.

            “What?”

            “I asked the nurse, she said Tsubaki suggested they test you in case it was your immune system shutting down somehow, making you worse when you were in the coma. They tested you for the major STDs. You’re clean.”

            Nezumi didn’t touch Shion’s hair. “Oh. That’s good.”

            Nezumi didn’t think Shion looked upset. He didn’t know what Shion looked. Familiar. Warm.

            “After I left you a few weeks ago, I got back together with the librarian I was dating before. His name is Kazuo,” Shion said.

            Nezumi crossed his legs. Tucked his own hair behind his ears and wished his hair band wasn’t stuck on his wrist because of his IV.

            “We’re still dating even though I’m here. I didn’t break up with him.”

            Nezumi nodded slowly at Shion’s blank expression. “Are you going to?” he asked, after a moment.

            “He’s a good person.”

            Nezumi narrowed his eyes. “Shion, why are you telling me this?”

            “I don’t want you to have any misconceptions.”

            “About what?”

            “About anything.”

            “You think because you just told me I’m clean that I’m under the impression you want to fuck me right now on this hospital bed, and you’re warning me against getting any ideas because you’re dating a good person,” Nezumi said.

            Shion’s gaze shifted between Nezumi’s eyes. “His name is Kazuo. And that’s not why I told you.”

            Nezumi didn’t give a shit about the name of the guy Shion was dating. “Then why did you tell me?”          

            “To not tell you felt like lying.”

             “Who cares if you lie to me? It’s not like we’re dating. It’s the librarian you shouldn’t be lying to.”

            “I’m not lying to him!” Shion snapped, anger flashing across his expression that had been calm until then.

            Nezumi pushed his hair out of his eyes. “Believe it or not, I have no interest in hearing about your relationship with another man.”

            Instantly, Shion’s anger smoothed. “That’s not – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” he started, and he didn’t finish, and Nezumi looked at his lips that he couldn’t kiss because Shion was dating some good person with a name Nezumi couldn’t remember even though Shion had told him twice.

            Nezumi didn’t ask why Shion was sitting on his hospital bed if he was dating a good person that he didn’t lie to. Nezumi didn’t want to have to ask. He wanted it to just be natural for Shion to be beside him. He wondered if that had ever been the case, and realized it hadn’t.

            It was never a normal occurrence, for Shion to be around him. There was always something wrong, there was always something preventing them from being just two people with a right to be around each other.

            “How’s Karan?” Nezumi asked, to change the subject from the guy Shion was dating who was a good person.

            Shion looked at his knees. “She’s good. I don’t see her that often anymore.”

            “Why not?”

            “I don’t know,” he said quietly.

            Nezumi wondered if he made Shion miserable. If whenever Shion was around him, all he felt was bad.

            The thought tightened his stomach. Squeezed his chest even more so. He looked away from Shion even though he wanted to stare at him for as long as he was allowed.

            “What does she think of the guy you’re dating who’s a good person?” Nezumi asked mildly, examining the IV sticking out of his palm.

            “She doesn’t know him.”

            “Why not?”

            “Don’t do this.”

            “What?” Nezumi asked his IV.

            “I’m not going to talk about him with you.”

            “You brought him up.”

            “You said you didn’t want to talk about him.”

            “Fine. What do you want to talk about, Shion?” Nezumi asked, looking at him again.

            Shion was looking at him too. He took a while to reply, but Nezumi didn’t mind. He wasn’t in a rush. He hated that time had to pass at all. “What are you going to do when you get out?” Shion asked, after maybe a minute of just looking.

            “I’ll probably go to my apartment.” Nezumi didn’t know what his other options were. _Follow you,_ he wanted to say, but he doubted that was an option at all.

            “I meant about work. You’re not still going to work at the bar, are you?’

            “Why wouldn’t I?”

            Shion’s eyes creased. “You’re an alcoholic. That job isn’t good for you.”

            “I’m not an alcoholic.”

            “How can you say that?”

            “I don’t drink because I have to, I drink because I want to.”

            “That’s a classic line of an alcoholic,” Shion argued.

            “And how would you know that?”

            “I researched alcoholism,” Shion said, like it was a natural, expected thing.

            Nezumi raised an eyebrow. “Have you considered that you have too much free time on your hands?”

            “I didn’t do it because I was bored, I did it because you’re an alcoholic, and I wanted to know what treatment options you had. I think you should go to rehab.”

            Nezumi felt his lips open. “What? Are you serious?”

            “Yes.”

            “Shion, I don’t need rehab.”

            “I can pay for it.”

            “I ask you this out of concern for you. Have you lost your mind?”

            Shion stared at him, then ducked his forehead into his knees, tightened his arms around his legs.

            Nezumi thought of reaching out. Recalled the good person Shion was dating and decided against it.

            “What’s going on?”

            Shion said something into the space between his knees and chest that was unintelligible.

            “I didn’t quite catch that.”

            Shion lifted his head. Shifted so he was facing Nezumi and crossed his legs, held onto his ankles. “I just want to help you. I can help you. Please let me, I have so much money, and I don’t need it. I don’t think you should work at the bar anymore, you hate it, and that’s why you drink, and – ”

            “That’s not why I drink,” Nezumi interrupted. “And I don’t want your money either. If you don’t want it so badly, give it to charity.”

            Shion shook his head, and Nezumi expected him to argue, but Shion rarely did what Nezumi expected. “What if we could be friends,” Shion asked, and Nezumi had to pause, replay the words in his head and wonder if he heard correctly.

            “Can you repeat that?”

            “I think about you all the time. I don’t think that’ll ever change. What if we stopped trying to completely erase each other from our lives and just were friends?”

            Nezumi couldn’t tell if Shion was serious. He seemed very sincere, but even he had to know this was the stupidest thing he’d ever said. “I’m not trying to erase you from my life,” he said slowly.

            “We could write each other letters, the way we used to. Or talk on the phone. I could even visit you sometimes.”

            “While you date the good person,” Nezumi said, to clarify, and Shion frowned.

            “This has nothing to do with him.”

            “It certainly has nothing to do with me. I have no desire to be your friend, and I doubt I’ve ever given you the impression that I do.”

            “It has to be all or nothing? We’ve tried both, and neither worked,” Shion insisted.

            “We have not tried both. You refused to try both. You decided on having nothing to do with me on your own, and honestly, Shion, I can’t do this all over again, I can’t have this same stupid fight again with you. Is it your idea of a fun time to fly out here, argue with me a little bit about how you think about me all the time but in the end you don’t think it’s a good idea, and then fly back to the Gold District after you’ve tormented me a little? I find it exhausting, personally.”

            “The reason I flew out here was to pay for your hospital bills so they wouldn’t take you out of the coma early and let you die!”

            “You can mail checks, hand delivering payment is not a policy this hospital observes, from what I know,” Nezumi snapped.

            “I thought you were going to die!”

            “What does it matter to you? How would my death affect you in any way? Wouldn’t it be more convenient? You wouldn’t have to deal with your unfortunate feelings for me. You wouldn’t have to deal with the internal conflict of whether or not to fuck up your perfect Gold District life to accommodate these feelings for me. You wouldn’t have to lie to the good person you’re dating. You could move on with your life, and don’t tell me that’s not what you want because I know it is, that’s why you left, that’s what you want, you wish you ever met me and I definitely can’t blame you for that, but I still don’t think I deserve to sit here while you tell me you’re dating a good fucking guy – Why the hell would you tell me that? What is wrong with you, Shion? I’m the bad guy, I’m the border area resident, I know that, that’s my role here, but I like to think I still deserve better than this shit you put me through over and over and – ” Nezumi wasn’t close to done telling Shion how he felt, but he couldn’t keep going as Shion was kissing him, lips hard on his, and Nezumi hated him but kissed him back because there was nothing he wanted to do more.

            He was on his back, Shion having pushed him, and Nezumi wrapped his hands in Shion’s hair while Shion kissed harder. Shion’s hand caught on his IV, pulled it so that Nezumi winced.

            “Ah, fuck – ”

            “What – What?”

            “The IV. Be careful.”

             “Oh, sorry,” Shion breathed, then kissed Nezumi again, hand in Nezumi’s hair, and Nezumi was aware that his hair was greasy, was aware that he hadn’t shaved in a week, was aware that he hadn’t showered or brushed his teeth in just as long, but Shion didn’t seem to care about any of it this, was kissing down Nezumi’s neck, was pulling on his hospital gown, tugging at the neck of it and then the sides.

            “Are you going to get it off or not?”

            “I don’t know how to, is there a string?”

            “I don’t know,” Nezumi said, sitting up, and they examined it for a string, but there appeared to be none, so Shion pulled it up from the bottom, and Nezumi tried to yank it over his head, but it was caught on the IV. “This fucking IV.”

            “Wait, let me untangle it, stop pulling at it.”

            Nezumi let Shion untangle it. He was immediately naked, not having been wearing any of his own clothes underneath the gown. He pulled at Shion’s cardigan, wanting to make it fair – more than that, just wanting Shion to be naked.

            “I’ll get it,” Shion said, sitting up, pulling off his cardigan and then his shirt underneath, and then he was getting off the bed completely, ripping off his jeans and boxers and Nezumi heard the thumps of his shoes as he kicked them off before climbing back on the bed.

            “You still have on your socks,” Nezumi pointed out.

            “Shut up.”

            “Not fair, I don’t have socks,” Nezumi breathed, while Shion lowered down and pressed his lips to the insides of Nezumi’s thighs.

            Nezumi reached down, strung his fingers through Shion’s hair.

            He thought, momentarily, of the good person whom Shion was dating. The librarian with a name. Nezumi tried to remember. It started with a K.

            Kaito? Kansuke?

            Nezumi stopped thinking about it. Gasped and dug his heels in the mattress and tightened his hand in Shion’s hair as Shion took him in his mouth.

            “Shion. Your Majesty.”

            Shion looked up briefly. “Don’t talk.”

            “This is a bad idea,” Nezumi insisted, freeing his hand from Shion’s hair.

            “Why?”

            Nezumi couldn’t think of a reason. Couldn’t remember the name of the reason.

            Kaiji? Kouta?

            He didn’t give a shit. He leaned back against the pillow, wrapped his fingers around the hospital sheets.

            “Ah, fuck, Shion – fuck.”      

            Nezumi bit his lip to stop himself from speaking. He didn’t need a nurse hearing, thinking he was in pain, coming in.

            Nezumi remembered that the doctor was supposed to be coming in at some point to check on him. Needed her to stay out for just ten minutes. If Shion kept doing what he was doing, just five minutes. Maybe not even that.

            Nezumi heard his voice escaping around the lip he was biting, just syllables without words. He closed his eyes. Pressed his body as hard as he could into the hospital cot. Let go of the hospital sheets to hold onto the bar of the cot behind his head, tilted his head to the side and pressed his mouth into his arm, bit hard on his skin, and it muffled him but not nearly enough. Nezumi tasted blood when he climaxed, opened his eyes and saw that he’d torn the skin of his arm. Shion’s fingers dug into the skin of his thighs. Nezumi tried not to rock his hips up and gag him.

            And then Shion was no longer blowing him, and Nezumi opened his eyes to see Shion appear in front of him.

            Shion kissed him, and when Nezumi tasted Shion’s lips he cringed. He reached down from the frame of the cot to push Shion gently away from him.

            “What?”

            “Is this what I always taste like?”

            Shion licked his lips. “Yeah. Why?”

            “It’s terrible.” 

            “Do I taste different?”

            “Yeah, less terrible.”  

            Shion smiled with wet lips. “Well, it’s your turn anyway,” he said, and Nezumi sat up with Shion, kissed Shion’s neck first, kissed his shoulders, bit the skin there, kissed his chest, felt Shion’s hands in his hair and on his back.

            Nezumi ducked down, followed Shion’s scar to his hips, kissed along the crease of his thigh, and Shion was already hard, leaking.

            Nezumi had only been blowing him for half a minute, if that, when he felt himself gagging with a strange sense of fear, sat up and still felt nauseous, pressed his hand over his lips and tried to suppress the heaving of his stomach.

            “Nezumi?”

            Nezumi shook his head. He was fine. He hadn’t even taken Shion deep, there was no reason for this, he swallowed hard and sat very still until the feeling passed.

            “Are you okay? Did I do something? What’s wrong?”

            “I’m fine,” Nezumi said after he dropped his hand from his lips. “Pretend that didn’t happen.”

            He ducked back down, but Shion pulled him up immediately, hands on Nezumi’s face.

            “Are you kidding me? You almost gagged, you’re not doing that again.”

            “It’s fine, don’t overreact.”

            “Overreact?” Shion demanded.

            “Yeah, what you’re doing right now. I’ve given you head many times before, if you’ll recall. You’re not the problem.”

            “But there is a problem. What is it?”

            “How should I know? It was just some stupid thing, probably an effect of the coma.”

            “How is vomiting an effect of the coma?” Shion countered.

            “I didn’t vomit,” Nezumi reminded.

            “Nezumi.”

            Nezumi wiped his lips with the back of his hand without the IV. “Don’t make a big deal. Let’s just try again.”

            “I don’t want you to try again if going down on me makes you gag.”

            “It’s not you!”

            “Then what is it?”

            “Fuck.” Nezumi weaved his fingers through his bangs. “Nothing. I don’t know. Probably the guy from the bathroom.”

            “What guy?”

            Nezumi shook his head. “Don’t give me crap for this.”         

            “Crap for what, Nezumi, I don’t even know what you’re talking about!”

            Nezumi sighed. “The last thing I remember isn’t dancing like I told the doc. It’s blowing some guy in the bathroom of the bar. My body is probably just associating that with my near death and freaking out or some inconvenient crap like that, I’ll get over it, let’s just try again.”

            Shion’s eyes were wide. “You were a prostitute?” he asked – unnecessarily loudly at that.

            Nezumi squinted, certain he’d hallucinated the words. “Did you just ask me if I was a prostitute?”

            “You said you blew a guy in the bathroom of the bar where you work! What am I supposed to think?”

            “You’re supposed to think I work at the bar and took a break to blow a guy in the bathroom with complete irrelevance to my livelihood,” Nezumi said slowly.

            “You use your breaks to blow guys in the bathroom?” Shion asked.

            “Christ, Shion, you’re really being stupid right now, you know that?” Nezumi snapped.

            “I’m just trying to clarify what you said!”

            Nezumi exhaled slowly through his lips. “Not that it is in any way your concern, but it was a special circumstance.”

            “Am I allowed to ask why?”  

            “No, you’re not. It has nothing to do with you.”

            Shion just looked at Nezumi. He pushed his hair off his forehead.

            “Compromise? I’ll just jerk you off,” Nezumi offered, but Shion shook his head.

            “It’s okay. I’m not really in the mood.”

            “Are you serious?”

            “It’s really fine, Nezumi, we should just get dressed, the doctor could be back at any minute.”        

            “What? You think I’m too promiscuous? Not up to your classy standards of a sex life?”     

            “Your sex life doesn’t matter to me, Nezumi,” Shion said tiredly, slipping off the bed and stooping down to pick up his clothes.

            “I should have done it the right way. Should have got myself a good guy to date and then cheated on him, that’s the way the Gold District citizens do it, right?”

            “You don’t have to be an asshole,” Shion snapped.

            “Right. You ask me if I’m a prostitute, but I’m an asshole for stating a fact.”

            “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that, I know you wouldn’t do that – ”

            Nezumi was off the bed with his hospital gown in his hands, but he didn’t put it on, looked at Shion. “You know I wouldn’t do what? I wouldn’t have sex for money? Why not? What’s wrong with that?”

            Shion had on his boxers and t-shirt and cardigan and was holding his jeans. “I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it, but you wouldn’t do that.”          

            “And you know that? You’re so sure of that?”

            “Nezumi, why are you arguing with me about this?”

            “Do you want to know why I gave the guy in the bathroom a blow job? For a bottle of vodka. That’s worse than money, don’t you think?”

            Shion sighed. “I’m not judging you, Nezumi. You want to think I am, but I’m not. I know your circumstances were different – ”

            “Because I’m from the border areas. That’s what all of this is about. You can’t get over that, I’m still a piece of shit to you – ”

            “You have to be kidding me – ”

            “I can get away with murder, and it’s fine, because I’m from the border areas and that’s just what we do. I fucking held you hostage, and you didn’t care, it’s just in my nature, I couldn’t help it, it’s how I was raised – ”

            “I don’t even know where this is coming from, I’ve never cared that you were from the border areas – ”

            “Of course you cared! You’re with Mr. Good Person because he’s safe and he’s a Gold District citizen and he’s a fucking librarian, you don’t even love him, you don’t give a shit about him, but he’s got a Gold District I.D., so you’ll be with him and fly out here when you please without any warning to me to fuck me on the side cause I’m just from the border areas and not worth any sort of real effort,” Nezumi fumed, and then there was a knock on the door, and he glanced at it to see the doctor walking in, though she quickly froze.

            Nezumi remembered he was naked. He held the hospital gown over his crotch.

            “Right,” she said, glancing from Nezumi to Shion. “I’ll give you five minutes and be back. Please be dressed at that point.”

            She stepped back out of the room, closed the door behind her, and Nezumi pulled the hospital gown over his head, nearly tearing out his IV again, tempted to just rip it out completely.

            He resisted the urge and got back in bed, careful not to let his IV catch on anything as he did so.

            “I know you don’t really think that,” Shion said quietly, after Nezumi was sitting in bed.

            Nezumi glanced at him. “Put on your pants, you heard the doc.”

            “If you really think that’s what I feel, if you really think that’s why I made the decision to end our relationship, then I can’t even imagine what you think of me. Why do you love me? Why would you love me if you think I’d be so shallow?” Shion asked.

            Nezumi exhaled deeply. “I don’t know, Shion. I don’t know why, maybe I shouldn’t, it’s too fucking irritating and gets me absolutely nothing. I get shit for loving you, and I’m really forgetting why I started, you certainly aren’t making it worth the effort.”

            Shion rubbed his hand against his eyes. “You should just stop, then,” he said, his voice hollow.

            “Yeah, I’ll go ahead and do that, thanks for the advice.”

            Shion shook his head, yanked on his jeans and tripped while doing so, leaned against Nezumi’s bed and finally got them on. He stooped down and when he stood up he was holding his shoes.

            He crossed the room without putting on his shoes, went straight to the door, and didn’t even pause for a second as he wrenched it open and slammed it shut behind him.

            Nezumi stared at the door, then looked at the back of his hand and yanked the IV out of it, just to watch it rip his skin.

*

The moment Shion was out of Nezumi’s hospital room, he called the librarian.

            “Shion, I’m so glad you called, I haven’t heard from you in a week. Is everything okay? Is Nezumi all right? I’ve been so worried.”

            Shion nearly hung up. He held the phone tighter and walked to the lobby on Nezumi’s floor.

            “I gave Nezumi a blow job,” he said, sitting on the edge of a couch, digging his elbows into his knees.

            There was silence on the other end of the line.

            “Kazuo?”

            “I’m here.”

            “Did you hear what I – ”

            “I heard,” Kazuo interrupted. Shion listened to his exhale over the phone. “I guess he’s doing fine, then.”

            “He was in a coma.”

            “You gave him a blow job when he was in a coma?”

            “No, he woke up,” Shion said, cringing, closing his eyes.

            “Right. Of course.”

            Shion swallowed. Waited for Kazuo to say something else, and when he didn’t, asked, “Are you going to say something?”

            “What am I supposed to say?”

            “Anything you want to tell me. What you’re feeling.”

            “What I’m feeling? Shion, I don’t want to tell you what I’m feeling. I’m feeling a lot of bad things, and I’d rather you didn’t see this side of me, not that it even matters anymore.”

            “I’m really sorry. Kazuo, I’m so sorry – ”

            “I think I’m going to hang up now.”

            “Wait! Wait, don’t do that, just wait – ”

            “The thing is, I’m getting really pissed off, and I don’t want to start yelling at you, especially because I’m at work standing outside a meeting right now to take this call. So I think I’ll just hang up.”

            Shion sat up, dug his fingers into his knee. “Wait. Kazuo, I’m so sorry, but I have to – I called because I have to – I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can do this. Our relationship. I don’t think I can be with you.”

            “Because you blew Nezumi.”

            Shion bit the inside of his cheek. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

            “Honestly, right now, I want to tell you to fuck yourself and fuck off and fuck Nezumi while you’re at it. But more than that, under the serious amount of anger I have right now, I want to understand why you did this – Relief, I’m assuming, that he woke up from the coma, and you must have been emotional, and – I hate that I have to give you these excuses right now, you know – ”

            “Kazuo – ”

            “But I don’t think we have to break up, that’s what I’m saying. I hate you right now, but I don’t want to end our relationship if it’s something you still believe in. Is it something you still believe in?”

            Shion exhaled hard. “No, it’s not,” he whispered.

            Kazuo was quiet.

            “I’m not breaking up with you because I cheated. I’m breaking up with you because I love Nezumi, and that’s not fair to you, and I can’t do this relationship if I’m always thinking about him, I can’t do that to you, you’re a good person – ”

            “Don’t tell me I’m a good person, Shion,” Kazuo snapped.

            “I just – ”

            “Who gives a fuck about being a good person? What, if I kidnapped some people, if I broke up some families, if I tried to start a war, that’s what it takes to impress you? I thought you were better than that,” Kazuo said, his voice hard like Shion had never heard it, and Shion couldn’t picture his expression because it was hard to picture Kazuo as anything but smiling shyly, his cheeks pink, pushing his glasses up his nose.

            Shion breathed deeply. Listened to Kazuo curse under his breath through the phone.

            “This is why I wanted to hang up,” he said, after a moment, his voice clipped. “I’m going to hang up now.”

            “Okay,” Shion said quietly.

            “Look, Shion. I know I just made an ass of myself, but just try to consider seriously – This is what you want? This is what will make you happy?”

            Shion nodded. Remembered he was on the phone. “Yeah.”

            “Okay. Okay. I know I can’t compete with him. I never could. I should have realized that, I guess I was just – Stupid, I guess. I’m just the stupid good person. Such a cliché, fuck. Right. Okay. Bye, Shion.”

            Kazuo hung up before Shion could say bye back, but it didn’t matter, he couldn’t find his voice.

            He put his phone down numbly and pressed his palms to his eyes, trying to contain the burn of them and ignore how his heartbeat shook his body.

*

Nezumi declined the doctor’s insistence that he stay in the hospital another night for observation.

            He dressed in the clothes he’d worn when he was brought in, and they smelled of booze and cigarette smoke. He felt dirty the moment he put them on. The doctor gave him a band-aid for the tear in his skin where he’d ripped out his IV and a brochure for a rehab facility that Nezumi tossed in the trash before he left his room.

            He planned on leaving the hospital completely, but as he passed the lobby on the way to the elevator, he saw bright white hair and stopped, felt nothing but heat at the sight of this man, nothing but want and made himself start walking away from Shion again anyway.

            Shion was sitting and looking across the lobby, and Nezumi followed his gaze as he walked past, saw that Shion was looking at nothing but a blank wall.

            When Nezumi looked back at Shion, Shion was not looking at the blank wall; he was looking at Nezumi, and then he was standing, and Nezumi shook his head, not wanting Shion to come near him – wanting it more than anything but not wanting it more than everything else. He tried to indicate to Shion that it was best they didn’t speak even though Nezumi didn’t believe that, would never believe that.

            Shion didn’t listen to Nezumi’s unspoken request that he stay away, did the opposite of listen and came up to Nezumi and walked beside him.

            “I wouldn’t care if you were a prostitute,” Shion said, before Nezumi could tell him to leave him alone.

            Nezumi stopped walking to stare at Shion fully. “You really think I’m a prostitute?”

            “No. I know you aren’t. I’m saying I wouldn’t care. I wouldn’t care what you were, or what you did. As long as you were happy.”

            Nezumi stared at Shion for another second, then continued walking. “Are you under the impression that I want to be a prostitute?”

            “No, Nezumi. This isn’t about that! I’m saying – I’m trying to say – I want you to be happy.”

            “By fulfilling my lifelong dream of being a prostitute,” Nezumi said dryly.

            “By being with me!” Shion shouted, and Nezumi stopped again, as they were in front of the elevator.

            Nezumi pushed the down button and pretended his entire body hadn’t reacted to Shion’s shout in a heated way. “You want to pay me for sex? Is that good person you’re dating really so unsatisfying?”

            “We’re not dating anymore.”

            Nezumi stared at the closed elevator doors. His skin burned and his heart shuddered his chest so that he was sure the beats of it were visible, shaking his t-shirt that smelled of booze and smoke. “Lucky me.”

            “Nezumi, can you just look at me?”

            Nezumi looked at him, not because Shion asked but because Nezumi had always liked to look at him.

            The elevator opened, and Shion glanced at it, then back at Nezumi, looking suddenly confused. “Are you leaving? I thought Ren wanted you to stay overnight.”

            “Who’s Ren?”

            “Your doctor.”

            “She changed her mind. Said I was healthier than I’d ever been and free to go,” Nezumi said, walking into the elevator, turning so he could still look at Shion, who followed him in.

            They were on the seventh floor. Nezumi pressed the button for the lobby as the doors closed, and then Shion reached out, pressed all of the buttons in between.

            “Are you a child?” Nezumi snapped.

            “I need time to talk to you.”

            “I’m tired of talking to you.”

            “That’s fine, you can just listen.”

            “Shion, if you tell me one more time that you don’t want to hurt me, I will hit you. I don’t care so much about not hurting you.”

            The elevator opened on the sixth floor. Nezumi reached out to press the door-close button.

            “That button doesn’t actually do anything,” Shion pointed out.

            “I’ll take the chance.”

            “I don’t care that you’re from the border areas.”

            “Fucking button,” Nezumi muttered, jamming his finger into it, and the doors finally closed.

            “I think we should move there.”

            The elevator dropped to the fifth floor. Stopped. The doors opened while Nezumi stared at Shion, forgetting to press the door-close button.

            “I think we should move to the border areas. In the end, I know you’ll just go back there. And I don’t want to live here, I don’t like this island and I don’t like the idea that I might bump into some guy in the grocery store who took advantage of you and slept with you when you were drunk.”

            The doors closed without Nezumi pressing the button. The elevator dropped to the fourth floor. Stopped again. The doors opened.

            “I’ve been wanting to quit my job for a while, and I think I might go into finance, or government, or public relations, and work on initiatives to get funds for the border areas. And I think we should build a library in the border areas, like your parents did. We should rebuild all of it, not just the library, but that’s something I want to do too.”

            The doors closed on the fourth floor. The elevator dropped to the third and stopped and the doors opened and Nezumi glanced out of them because to look at Shion felt difficult.

            “You asked me to be in your life, and I said no over and over, but you kept asking, so just ask me one more time, that’s all I need,” Shion insisted, while Nezumi watched the doors close on the third floor.

            The elevator dropped. Nezumi looked at the closed doors until they opened again. The second floor was loud. Nezumi reached out, held his finger over the door-close button until the doors closed several seconds later, and then he pulled out the red emergency button.

            The elevator jerked to a stop, and a light buzzing sounded.

             “What are you doing?” Shion asked.

            Nezumi turned to face him fully. He stepped closer to Shion, then again so that he was right in front of him, as close to Shion as he could be without touching him. Shion looked up at him in a worried way.

             “I know you must hate me for saying that now, after you’ve given me so many chances. I know you must not be able to stand me.”

            “That’s correct,” Nezumi confirmed, and Shion’s eyebrows knitted.

            “Give me another chance.”

            Nezumi looked down at him. This man he’d been forced to keep hostage years ago and let go after not even three nights. He’d thought, when he let Shion leave and the man walked out his door, that he’d never see Shion again. He’d been sure of it. There hadn’t been a reason for him to ever see Shion again, certainly not for years, certainly not for the rest of his life.

            “Just ask me one more time, Nezumi, and I’ll never make you ask me again,” Shion said softly.

            Nezumi didn’t have to pause. He didn’t have to hesitate. He waited a few seconds only because he needed to let his heart settle, stop beating so loud so he could be sure the shake of it wouldn’t be heard in his voice, but it didn’t settle, and Nezumi gave up on it ever doing so again. “Be in my life,” Nezumi told Shion.

            Shion smiled instantly. “Okay.”

            “It wasn’t a question.”

            “Okay.”

            Nezumi examined the man in front of him. Didn’t kiss him. Stepped back away from him so that they weren’t an inch from kissing and reached out, pushed the emergency button back in so that the buzzing stopped and the elevator was moving again, stopping at the main floor, doors opening.

            Nezumi walked out first. He felt Shion’s arm graze his and slipped his hands into the safety of his pockets, didn’t mind the brief contact but was still wary of the man beside him. He crossed through the main lobby, and outside it was just turning into afternoon, when the sun was too bright and Nezumi squinted in it.

            “There is a condition,” Shion said, while Nezumi tried to figure out which way he needed to go to get to his apartment.

            “Of course there is.”

            “You have to marry me.”

            Nezumi stopped trying to figure out which way he needed to go to get to his apartment. He forgot about his apartment. He forgot about mostly everything and stared at Shion.

            “Was that an attempt at humor?” he asked mildly, seeing nothing in Shion’s expression to explain himself.

            “No. If we get married, you become a Gold District citizen. That’s how it works. And if you’re a Gold District citizen, you’re entitled to a trial for any crime in the Gold District. We’ll get married, and then I think you should have a trial, not now, but in a few years to give them time to cool off and let me do more research on how to build your case. I think most people know that you don’t deserve the death sentence, but we should be cautious even so. If you lose the trial, you’ll just escape again, and we’ll return to the border areas, and you’ll never go back to the Gold District, and that’s fine too. But I want to try, I want you to be able to come with me when I go back there to visit, I want you to be able to properly see where I’ve always lived, I want you to help my mom in her bakery as a free man and stay with me when I visit her and see where Safu works and know about my past.”

            Nezumi squinted in the sun. “I see you’ve thought a lot about this.”

            “I told you I wanted to think about it. I wanted to do it right.”

            “And you just happened to date someone in the meantime?”

            Shion bit his lip. “I’m sorry. I was confused and I thought – I was wrong. I thought it would be better if I got over you, but that was stupid of me.”    

            “Spectacularly stupid.”

            “If it’s any consolation, I hurt him more than I hurt you.”

            “I don’t know about that. I can get pretty jealous.”

            Shion laughed, the sound incredible. “You’re such a liar, you didn’t even care.”

            “I did care.”

            Shion’s laugh fell away into a small smile. “Did you really?”

            Nezumi reached up, rubbed his thumb over Shion’s smile. “I care about everything you do.”

            Shion’s gaze flickered over Nezumi’s face. “Are you going to marry me?”

            “Are you going to get me a ring?”      

            “It’s not a real marriage. I mean, it could be, but I didn’t think you even believed in a societal institution like that.”

            “I certainly won’t believe in it if you don’t get me a ring. And you should ask on your knees, that’s the proper way to do it. What am I supposed to think about this half-assed proposal? It’s insulting.”

            “So you’ll marry me?” Shion asked again, cupping his hand over Nezumi’s jaw, and Nezumi looked at him, nodded.

            “Yeah, Your Majesty. I’ll move back to the border areas with you, and I’ll build a library for you, and I’ll marry you. Anything else you need?”

            Shion’s smile grew. “Yes.”

            “Well? What is it?”

            “Guess.”

            Nezumi tucked his hair behind his ears. Turned away from Shion to squint at the sun, then looked back at Shion with spots dancing over his eyes.

            Nezumi knew Shion wanted to be kissed, and after not much thought, Nezumi decided he would kiss the guy because Shion was still naïve enough to think he could get whatever he wanted, and Nezumi realized he didn’t ever want this to change.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's gonna be one more chapter after this - an epilogue of sorts, i suppose - that i'll prob post tomorrow or the next day, but i just wanna say now thanks to everyone who stuck around for the hectic wildness that has been this fic! :D hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	20. Chapter 20

_three years and four months later_

Nezumi’s anniversary gift to Shion was going to be a cake, which he baked with Karan’s occasional input in her kitchen.

            It was his and Shion’s first anniversary that Nezumi was allowed in the Gold District. Nezumi’s trial had an ended just a month before. His death sentence was lifted, and since that point, he and Shion had spent more time in the Gold District than their small house at the edge of the border areas.

            Nezumi assumed Shion wanted to move to the Gold District, but Shion hadn’t said anything about it, which was odd because Shion usually said everything he was thinking.

            “Should I do some design on it?” Nezumi asked, stepping back from the cake that he’d just finished slathering with icing. It looked plain. Karan’s cakes were usually extravagant.

            “It’s up to you,” Karan said, rather unhelpfully, taking the icing knife from Nezumi and sliding her thumb along the side of it, then licking the icing off and scrutinizing Nezumi’s cake.

            Nezumi’s favorite part of the lift of his death sentence in the Gold District was Karan’s bakery. He’d spent most of the previous month in this kitchen, baking alongside Karan without a soldier holding a gun at the door. He’d even worked a little in the front room, but he knew some Gold District citizens were still wary of him, and he preferred baking to dealing with customers anyway.

            “I don’t care about design. It tastes good, which is the point of a cake. But you know Shion. He’s picky and spoiled with his high standards.”

            Karan nodded, taking her thumb from her lips. “He does like good looking things,” she said, a little pointedly, and she smiled when Nezumi glanced at her.

            He looked quickly back at his plain cake. He found Shion’s mother warm and comforting, but she also had the ability to make him incredibly nervous.

            Nezumi twisted his ring around his finger – a habit he’d developed that he hadn’t noticed until Safu pointed it out to him too long after he’d developed it for him to seem to stop. Now, he noticed constantly, and stopped himself the moment after he started, placing his hands on the counter instead and tapping his fingers against the flour-dusted surface.

            “Do you want some ideas?” Karan asked.

            “Yes,” Nezumi said, relieved. “Please.”

            “When I’m commissioned for anniversary cakes, the most common request is flowers. Your flowers are always beautiful.”

            Nezumi shook his head. “He’ll make fun of me for weeks if I do flowers.”

            Karan laughed. “Three hearts, one for each year the two of you have been married?”

            Nezumi glanced at her, and she laughed harder. She had Shion’s laugh. A laugh that came easily. Started quiet and expanded to fill up a room.

            “How about something simple? You can write both of your names in icing, or just a simple _Happy Anniversary_.”

            “You’ve seen my handwriting. It’s only worse in icing.”

            Karan didn’t suggest writing it for Nezumi. It was Nezumi’s cake. He’d made it from scratch, with Karan standing by, giving tips because while Nezumi had mastered most aspects of the bakery, he had never made a decent icing on his own.

            “I have an idea,” Nezumi said, examining the cake. “Do you have gold food coloring?”

            “It’s the Gold District. Of course we do,” Karan said, and she went to the cupboard to get it for Nezumi, who twisted his ring around his finger, this time not noticing he was doing it.

*

Nezumi didn’t care about anniversaries, which Shion was fine with, as he didn’t care about them either.

            Each year married to this man was not nearly as incredible to Shion as each morning that he woke with Nezumi beside him.

            Nezumi was at the bakery, as he always was when they visited the Gold District. Shion himself spent most of his three-year wedding anniversary with Safu, who was in the process of moving.

            Shion was in charge of putting together the cardboard boxes, sealing them after Safu had packed them with her stuff, and labeling them appropriately.

            “You should at least go out to dinner.”

            “Nezumi likes to cook,” Shion said.

            “It’s the sentiment of the thing.”

            “Nezumi doesn’t like fancy restaurants. He says they give far too little food for far too much money.”

            Safu finished wrapping a page of newspaper around a plate and packed it in the box Shion had just set in front of her. “I suppose he’s right. Remind me, what did you do last year?”

            “Last year our anniversary happened to fall in the week before we’d set our library to open, so we were busy cataloguing all of the books donated from the Gold District. Remember?”

            “Oh, right, I was helping until Nezumi kicked me out.”

            “You weren’t following the Dewey Decimal system,” Shion reminded.

            “Don’t think I don’t know he kicked me out to have sex with you in the shelves, you told me so the next day,” Safu reminded back, and Shion laughed.

            “Oh, yeah.”

            “Did you get him a gift?” Safu asked.

            Shion had. He hadn’t told Safu previously what he’d been thinking about, as he hadn’t been sure it was a good idea, and he didn’t want Safu talking him out of it.

            “What is it?” Safu asked, before Shion could confirm he’d gotten anything at all.

            “It might be a bad idea.”

            “Is it expensive? That would be bad idea, he’ll return it and put the money in the Border Area Rehabilitation Fund like he did when you bought him a suit last year.”

            “No, it’s not expensive. And you can’t really return this.”     

            “What is it?” Safu asked again, putting down the plate she’d been holding and the newspaper page she’d just extracted from the newspaper open on the counter.

            Shion bit his lip.

            “It’s not – It’s not a cat, is it?” Safu asked warily, and Shion cringed.

            “Of course not!” he insisted, and at Safu’s look of relief, he felt guilty and added quickly. “It’s a kitten. Which is smaller than a cat, technically, so he might not be so – ”

            “Shion!” Safu said, laughing through her exasperation. “He told you he doesn’t want pets, you have to remember this, you fought about it for a month!”

            “He told me he doesn’t want a puppy,” Shion clarified.

            “Nezumi hates cats.”

            “He doesn’t hate cats.”

            “He’s told me himself. He hates cats.”

            “He did not. Did he? When did he tell you that?” Shion demanded.

            Safu had her hands on her hips. “After you guys got in that huge fight because he said absolutely no to your continual requests for a puppy, he asked me how he could make it up to you, and I told him to surprise you and get a cat as a compromise. He said he hates cats.”

            “What? Since when did the two of you talk behind my back?”          

            Safu shrugged. “How long have you guys been together again? Since that point.”

            “Three years and four months,” Shion said, because he’d been keeping track, he would do so forever, an unconscious effort, not an effort at all really but just a number he knew, he couldn’t not know, it was too important not to know.

            “Then we’ve been talking behind your back for three years and four months.”

            “You’re supposed to be my best friend.”

            “You can’t give him a cat, Shion. Or a kitten.”

            “I can’t return the kitten, I love her already.”

            “Oh, Shion. Where is this kitten?”

            “She’s at the pet store still, I’m picking her up before I meet Nezumi at my mom’s.”

            “Why would you get him a kitten? You know his thing about pets, how it’s terrible to house and feed animals when people are homeless and starving.”        

            “But people aren’t homeless and starving! Well, not in the border areas, at least, he knows more than anyone that we built enough apartment complexes and shelters and have enough food drives and as of the beginning of the year no one was sleeping on the street anymore, so that excuse is no longer valid, and I won’t accept it from him.”

            Safu shook her head. “He’s your husband, I certainly don’t have to tell you how useless that logic will be when you try to use it on him after he gets pissed that you went out and bought him a cat.”

            “A kitten, not a cat. And I didn’t buy her, I adopted her. And she’s not for him, she’s for us.”

            “It’s not me you have to convince, Shion,” Safu said, picking up the plate she’d put down and wrapping it in a page of newspaper as Shion watched her helplessly.

*

Nezumi got a call from Shion telling him to meet him at home, that he’d be late at Safu’s as they’d gotten distracted and hardly made the dent in the kitchen that they’d planned on finishing packing that day.

            Safu was moving closer to the edge of the border areas, though she’d still be within the gates of the Gold District.

            Nezumi caught the last bus out of the Gold District and returned to the border area, a trip that had become incredibly familiar in the month that his death sentence had been lifted. He let himself into the tiny house where he’d lived with Shion for three years and four months, put the finished cake in the fridge and changed from jeans to sweats.

            After he peed, he looked at himself in the mirror. He freed his hair from his ponytail, knowing Shion liked when it was down, then tied it back up, knowing Shion liked when it was up so he could take out the ponytail himself. He tucked his bangs behind his ears and thought he looked different somehow, in a way he couldn’t place.

            Nezumi was reading on the couch when he heard Shion’s key at the door. He finished his page and looked up from his book to watch Shion walk in, holding something in his arms that it took Nezumi about five seconds to recognize.

            “You’re holding a cat,” Nezumi pointed out.

            Shion closed the door behind him, peeked at Nezumi. “I know.”

            “Tell me it’s a stray you brought in because it has a broken leg that you plan on mending for your daily charity case before you send it on back outside where it belongs.”

            “She’s not a stray,” Shion said, toeing off his shoes and lingering at the door in his socks.

            Nezumi placed his book down, very aware that Shion had said _she_ when referring to an animal. “Shion.”

            “Happy anniversary,” Shion said weakly, peering down at the cat in his arms, which was squirming around. Shion crouched down, let go of the thing, and it shot under the bed. “Oh, wait, come back and meet Nezumi,” Shion called, getting on his knees and looking under the bed.

            Nezumi stood and walked over to Shion, who was still looking under the bed. “Shion.”

            Shion sighed, looked up though he stayed on the floor. “I didn’t know you hated cats. I thought it was just dogs. And she’s not really a cat, she’s a kitten.”

            “Kittens grow into cats.”

            “But she’s really small and cute,” Shion insisted, still kneeling, so Nezumi was forced to crouch down beside him.

            “Shion. You’ve got to return the cat.”

            “I can’t return her, I adopted her.”

            “Give it back, then.”

            “I can’t do that.”

            “Why not?”

            “Just give her a chance.”        

            “Stop calling it a her,” Nezumi said, standing up and heading to the kitchen. He’d gotten a bottle of wine to split with Shion and opened it, thinking he was ready for an early start.

            He drank from the bottle and leaned against the counter, listening to Shion making small, soft noises from the other room to attempt to coax the cat out from under their bed.

            The noises must have worked, as in a minute Shion was coming into the kitchen, the animal once again cradled in his arms.

            “Don’t drink from the bottle,” Shion said, looking up from the cat to narrow his eyes at Nezumi. “It’s harder to know keep track of how much you’re drinking if you don’t pour out glasses.”

            “I’m not an alcoholic,” Nezumi reminded, as he had to remind Shion every time he drank.

            “You don’t have to keep reminding me. I just think it’s good to keep track.”

            “Right,” Nezumi said dryly, but he put down the bottle to pull out two coffee mugs, as they didn’t have any wine glasses.

            He poured wine into the mugs, and when he looked up, Shion was standing in front of him with the cat.

            “Just look at her,” he said, and Nezumi held his mug as he peered at the animal Shion held.

            It was all white and very small, smaller than Nezumi thought cats were supposed to be. Its eyes were ridiculously blue and wide and looked at Nezumi the way Shion looked at Nezumi – in a focused stare, with an expectation Nezumi was unsure he could fulfill.

            It was cute, Nezumi conceded. But it was also an animal, and Nezumi preferred not to have one in his house. If he did have an animal, he’d always been partial to mice, which were actually intelligent.

            Nezumi knew nothing about the intelligence of cats, but he knew they ate mice.

            “You can’t see it from her position, but she has a little black spot on her back,” Shion said.

            “Why would I care about that?” Nezumi asked.

            “You have to admit she’s cute. And she seems to like you, she’s not squirming around anymore.”

            “It’s very small,” Nezumi noted.

            “She’s just a kitten. She’s like a little baby,” Shion said, and Nezumi glanced up from the cat to examine him.

            Shion’s voice got small and soft when he talked about the cat. This, Nezumi thought, was cute. Cuter than the cat.

            “We both work. We don’t have time for a cat.”

            “They’re very self-sufficient.”

            “I don’t like cats,” Nezumi said, taking a sip of his wine.

            “Just hold her and then decide.”

            “Why would I hold it if I don’t like cats?”

            Shion adjusted the thing in his arms, and immediately it was squirming again, but Shion kept his hold and reached out with the hand he’d freed, took Nezumi’s mug from him.

            “Take her before she falls.”

            “They’re supposed to land on all fours.”

            “Come on, Nezumi. If you really hate her, I’m not going to make you keep her, but you have to give her a shot first,” Shion said, somehow keeping his voice even while the cat scrabbled onto his shoulder and tried to climb onto his head.

            The color of the cat was the same color as Shion’s hair. Nezumi saw the black spot Shion had mentioned as he reached out, took the cat if only to stop the thing from clawing out Shion’s eyes.

            The cat was incredibly soft and light. The warmth of it startled Nezumi, and he nearly dropped it. It was hardly bigger than his two hands around it, and he brought it close to his chest instinctively as it squirmed, steadying it against his body.

            It felt like a heartbeat in his palms. A pulsing, heated thing that settled the moment Nezumi held it to his chest. He let go of it to wrap his arms around it the way Shion had, cradling the thing, which quivered against him.

            “I think it’s scared,” Nezumi admitted, feeling it shake despite its stillness. He spoke softly so as not to startle it.

            “Just give her a second to get used to you,” Shion said, so Nezumi tried to stay as still as he could, watching the animal as it sniffed his t-shirt, then his wrists, then crawled along his arms with tiny paws and trembling legs before it settled again against the crook of his left elbow.

            Nezumi stared at it, then looked up at Shion, who was sipping out of his mug.

            Shion lowered the mug and licked his lips, red with wine. “You don’t have to admit you like her out loud if you don’t want, I’ll take silent complacency,” he said, smiling, his teeth stained as well.

            “Your teeth are stained with wine,” Nezumi said, and Shion smiled wider.

            “So we can keep her? Since she’s technically my present to you, you get to name her.”

            “I don’t want to name it,” Nezumi said, looking back at the thing. “And what about food? And shots and stuff, don’t they carry diseases?”

            “She got all her shots, and we can feed her tuna, we have a couple cans, and I’ll pick up more the next time I go shopping. And she has to have a name, Nezumi.”

            “It’s a cat, it doesn’t need a name.”

            “I guess we can just call her Kitty until you think of something you like.”

            “Do whatever you want,” Nezumi said, while the cat turned its head, looked up at Nezumi with that stare again.

            Nezumi stared back. Waited for the cat to blink, but it didn’t seem to feel the need to, and Nezumi ended up blinking first despite his best efforts not to. He wondered if cats even had to blink, maybe they were some weird sort of creature that didn’t blink at all.

            Nezumi frowned at the thing. It finally blinked at him.

            “Hey,” Shion said, and Nezumi looked at him.

            “What?”

            “Do you have a gift for me?” Shion asked, biting the rim of the mug and waggling his eyebrows.

            “Don’t bite that, you’ll chip your teeth,” Nezumi said, stooping down to release the cat, which he placed carefully on the tile.

            It kept looking at him as if in accusation that he was putting it down, and Nezumi glared back before turning away from it, opening the fridge.

            He took out the cakebox and placed it on the counter, picked up Shion’s mug since Shion had stolen his and sipped from it while Shion opened the box and looked inside.

            He turned back to Nezumi. “You baked me a cake?”

            “Looks like it.”

            “Can I eat it?”

            “No, it’s for the cat.”

            Shion laughed, stepped away from the counter and pulled Nezumi to him by his shirt so abruptly Nezumi nearly spilled his wine.

            “Careful, Your Majesty,” Nezumi said, putting down his mug beside the cakebox.

            “Did you make the icing or did my mom?”

            “I did.”

            “I thought you could never get it right.”

            “I had to throw out four batches,” Nezumi admitted, while Shion reached up, pulled out Nezumi’s ponytail and ran his hands through Nezumi’s hair.

            “I like the design.”

            “Thought you might.”

            “Did my mom see it?”

            “She did.”

            “What did she think?” Shion asked, winding his arms loosely around Nezumi’s neck and looking up at him.

            Nezumi shrugged. “She finds it amusing that I call you _Your Majesty,_ and she found it just as amusing that I put a crown on your cake.”

            Shion smiled. “You know, you think it’s an insult, as if you’re calling me spoiled. But to everyone else, it sounds like you’re calling me your prince charming.”

            Nezumi narrowed his eyes. “No one thinks that.”

            Shion nodded, leaned up quickly to kiss Nezumi too briefly on the cheek. “They do, and so do I,” he whispered, his lips at Nezumi’s ear one second and gone the next, and then he was turning to the cupboard, getting out plates. “Can you get me a knife? And careful not to step on our kitty, she’s right by your legs,” Shion said, pointing, and Nezumi glanced down before he stepped around the cat to reach for the silverware drawer, opening it to grab Shion a knife.

             “Should we give her a piece?”           

            “It took me a week to perfect that recipe,” Nezumi said. “You’re not feeding it to an animal.”          

            “She’s a part of our family now, Nezumi.”

            “Don’t be ridiculous,” Nezumi said, watching the cat stumble around his legs, sniff his socks, then plod over his feet.

            “I know you, you’re softer than you like to think. You’re going to grow an attachment to her, you just wait.”

            Shion was licking icing off the knife, which was a butter knife, but even so, he could be such an idiot it amazed Nezumi even now.

            “Don’t lick knives, Shion,” Nezumi sighed, taking the plate Shion offered him.

            “This is amazing,” Shion gushed, still licking it. “You really made this?”

            “Yes, give me that,” Nezumi snapped, taking the knife from Shion and pushing him by the hip so he could cut Shion’s piece and keep the knife away from him.

            “This isn’t my mom’s recipe.”

            “I told you, I made the recipe myself.”

            “You just made up a recipe on your own?”

            “Yes, I’m a man of many talents. Bigger or smaller?” Nezumi said, holding the knife over the cake.

            “Bigger! I cut you a bigger piece than that.”

            “No, you didn’t, and you shouldn’t eat so much, you’ll feel sick and complain to me about it.”

            “It’s my cake, isn’t it? Cut me a bigger piece,” Shion said, leaning over Nezumi’s shoulder while he cut a slightly bigger piece. “That’s not big enough.”

            “You can take more after you finish it.”

            “You must have put in a lot of effort to make up a recipe for a cake.”

            “I wouldn’t say a lot,” Nezumi said, grabbing forks for them and handing one to Shion.

            “You said it took you a week to perfect it. So that’s what you were doing at the bakery all day every day.”

            “And your point is?”

            “That’s really thoughtful, Nezumi. I love it. Thank you,” Shion said, icing on his lips and even a smudge on his cheek after he stuffed too large a forkful of cake in his mouth.

            “Happy anniversary,” Nezumi said, reaching out to wipe the icing off Shion’s cheek. He licked his thumb clean while Shion looked down, and Nezumi followed his gaze, saw that the cat was still hovering around their feet, not seeming to care about exploring the rest of the house.

            “Hey,” Shion said, and Nezumi glanced back up at him.

            “Hm?”

            “I know I said we should get married because it’d make you a Gold District citizen and allow you a trial, but that’s not the only reason I wanted to marry you.”            

            Nezumi tilted his head. “I’m very aware of that, Your Majesty.”       

            “Okay. Good. I just wanted to make sure you knew.”

            Nezumi watched Shion lick the icing off his fork. Even after three years, he often forgot Shion was his husband. It surprised him still, to look at his hand and see a ring there, or to notice Shion’s ring when he washed the dishes, or read a book, or took the spoon from Nezumi to taste the pasta sauce.

            Nezumi was glad for the surprise of it each time. He liked that he wasn’t used to it. He liked that he noticed it, endlessly, because it was something to notice.

            Shion was his, and he was Shion’s, and he never wanted to forget that this was incredible and unbelievable. He never wanted to forget to be amazed by Shion, and he doubted he ever would.

*

They’d had the cat for two weeks, and she was still nameless.

            Nezumi called her _the cat_ , as in, _Shion, did you feed the cat? It’s looking at me like it hasn’t eaten but I think it’s lying, you know how it likes to lie,_ or, _Shion! Come get the cat, it came into the shower with me again and every time I toss the damn thing out it just jumps back in and runs around like a maniac,_ or, _If you think I’m scooping the cat’s litter, you’re out of your mind. Unless the cat starts pitching in around here, I’m not doing anything else for it, the fucking freeloader,_ or, and most often, _Shion, come quick, look at the cat, it’s reading again!_

            The cat, of course, did not read. But that did not stop Nezumi from leaving his books open after the first time he did so accidentally, and it didn’t stop the cat from sitting on top of one page and staring down at the other, and it never stopped Nezumi from then calling Shion to look at the cat and insist that she was reading when, clearly, the cat could not read.

            Shion called her many things. He called her _baby girl,_ as in, _Come on, baby girl, you can’t shower with Nezumi, he doesn’t like that and you’ll get all wet, won’t you?_

            He called her _kitty_ , as in, _Kitty! Kitty, where are you? Come have your dinner, kitty, kitty, kitty!_

            He called her _our sweet baby,_ as in, _Nezumi, okay, don’t be mad, but our sweet baby who loves you vomited in your boot again, but she looks really sorry about it._

            But most often, he called her _the cat,_ just like Nezumi did, as in, _Nezumi, don’t move, the cat fell asleep on you again and she looks really tired. I’ll heat up your tea for you, just stay there._

            Shion had been right. Nezumi grew a fast and intense attachment for the cat despite his denial and insistence that he would not. The feeling was mutual, and whenever Nezumi was home, the cat could be found beside him or, more commonly, on top of him, either his lap if he was sitting or his chest or stomach if he was lying down.

            Now, Nezumi was lying on his stomach on the floor, propping himself up by his elbows to read. Their kitten was curled on his lower back. Nezumi put his book down.

            “Don’t move,” Shion warned, from where he sat on the couch, checking the logs for the Border Area Rehabilitation Fund and trying to decide where that month’s funds should be distributed. He couldn’t decide if it should go towards the career center, which was run by volunteers but would do better if it actually had a paid staff, or the homeless shelter, which needed more blankets for the approaching winter. “Kitty’s on your back.”

            “My elbows hurt. This is the worst reading position.”

            “It’s your fault for reading like that, you knew she’d go on your back.”

            “I’m not compromising my comfort for the cat, Shion,” Nezumi said, and then he was rolling over, and their kitten tumbled off of him with a startled _mrow!_ before she ran under the bed, which was her second favorite spot after Nezumi’s body.

            Nezumi stretched, bent to check under the bed, then came over to Shion and sat too close to him on the couch, nearly knocking Shion’s laptop from his lap.

            “What are you doing?” he asked, stretching his arm around Shion’s shoulder and pulling Shion into his side.

            Shion pulled back. “I’m trying to think, Nezumi, go read on the bed.”

            “You and your thinking. What is that, the month’s funds?”

            “Yeah, I’m thinking the career center.”

            “The shelter needs blankets.”

            “We can ask for donations from the Gold District. I think we need to start hiring a paid staff at the career center, it would be so much more effective. Getting people better jobs is a long-term initiative that needs to start as soon as possible.”

            “Have you slept without a blanket in the winter? I have. It’s cold. You don’t sleep, you lie there and think about how cold it is. Blankets are more important, they’re an immediate need.”

            “If we only focus on immediate needs, there will never be real progress. We have to start a foundation for a better civilization here, or it’ll never show real signs of development,” Shion said, words he’d said before because he and Nezumi had this argument constantly.

            “The people here don’t care about progress, they care about survival.”

            “We need to build a future for them! You’re focusing too much on the present. We’ve dealt with the immediate crises, we need to widen our scope of focus so that the next generation has a chance at a better life.”

            “We’re putting the money towards the blankets, Shion. It’s not an argument.”

            “I’m in charge of the fund allocation,” Shion argued.

            “We agreed to that only because you said you’d be responsible with it, you said I should trust you – ”

            “You’re too close to the problem because this is where you grew up, and you’ve shared many of the same circumstances with these people who need our help, but you need to let me do my job. I’m objective, I can make decisions on what will be best in the long run rather than what seems like the most immediate need!” Shion shut his laptop, tired of this argument that they had several times a month, often several times a week. He stood up from the couch, placing his laptop on the seat he vacated before heading to the kitchen.

            Nezumi followed him, sat on a stool at the counter while Shion put on tea.

            “Listen. I know you’re objective, and sure, that’s valuable, but I actually know what it’s like to live in this shithole, so you need to listen to my opinion and take it into account.”       

            “I do take it into account. Nezumi, I do, but you need to trust me too. You can’t argue with every decision I make and use your personal experience to force my hand, that’s not fair.”

            “If I’m right, I’m going to argue with you.”

            Shion sighed. “Let’s drop it for now, okay? I feel like we’ve been talking about this every day for the past week.”

            “It’s important.”         

            Shion felt his hands curl into fists. “I know it’s important! I’m working my ass off for the border areas just like you are, I quit my job to form a committee for the reconstruction of the border areas, I spend all my time collecting funds and making plans and talking to the Gold District government, I’m invested in this, and it’s not for you, it’s what I want to do. This isn’t one-sided, you can’t act like I don’t care just because I didn’t grow up here, I don’t deserve that.”

            Nezumi glared for a moment, then shook his head. “Fine, let’s drop it.”

            “No, I don’t want to drop it anymore. Sometimes I wonder if you still think I’m that spoiled brat you thought I was before you got to know me. Is that what you think?”

            Nezumi ran his hand through his hair. “That’s not what I think.”

            “Then why do you doubt all of my decisions?” Shion asked, pressing his palms into the counter, and Nezumi just looked at him, then stood up, walked around the counter. He reached out and pulled the hem of Shion’s shirt until Shion had to face him, had to take a step towards him, had to let Nezumi wind his arms around his waist.

            “I’m sorry. I don’t doubt you,” Nezumi said, ducking his lips into Shion’s neck, and Shion exhaled, rested his head against the side of Nezumi’s.

            “I can’t stand when you patronize me.”

            “I’m sorry,” Nezumi said, his lips on Shion’s jawline now.

            “You can’t just kiss me so I accept your apology.”

            “I’m sorry,” Nezumi whispered, his lips by Shion’s ear now.

            “I don’t accept. Sometimes you can be so – You’re so,” Shion started, but he couldn’t think of what Nezumi was other than kissing him and pulling Shion’s waist closer to his.

            “I’m sorry,” Nezumi said, pressing his lips softly between Shion’s eyebrows, then down the bridge of Shion’s nose.

            “Nezumi, I’m not going to let you distract me with sex so we don’t talk about this.”

            “Of course not,” Nezumi agreed, against Shion’s lips now, and Shion kissed him back, reached his arms up around Nezumi’s neck, pulled him closer.

            Ten minutes later, they were undressed in bed, Shion on his back and Nezumi rocking into him, slow and deep and slower and deeper, his head ducked into Shion’s neck, his breaths hot on Shion’s skin. Shion had one hand in Nezumi’s hair and the other sliding up Nezumi’s back, feeling the ridges of Nezumi’s burn scar, the familiarity of them, as natural to him as any other part of Nezumi.

            Shion slid his hand up from Nezumi’s scar, up his shoulder blades, up the back of his neck, around to his jaw to unearth Nezumi from his own neck, to make Nezumi look at him.

            Nezumi’s eyelids were heavy. He breathed hard on Shion’s face, and Shion gasped back. Nezumi rocked harder into him, faster, and Shion lifted his hips as Nezumi ducked his head again, but Shion tilted his chin back up.

            “Shion – ”

            “Just once, I want to see you,” Shion insisted.

            Nezumi always hid his face when he climaxed, and Shion understood this. Here was a man who was used to secrets, who was used to hiding parts of himself, but slowly he’d been showing Shion the parts he’d hidden.

            It was Nezumi’s fault, really, that Shion had grown greedy. Wanted to know everything now. Could not settle for less.

            “You’re my husband, right? I just want to see you,” Shion said, and then he couldn’t say anything because Nezumi ground his hips down harder and Shion’s toes were curling, hands reaching back and fingers digging into Nezumi’s shoulders.   

            Nezumi was looking at him and then abruptly dropping his head down beside Shion’s cheek, and Shion couldn’t pull him back up because his own body felt limp and wrung out and useless and too hot to do anything but shudder beneath Nezumi’s.

            He didn’t mind that Nezumi hid his expression. It was a secret he could try to uncover next time, or the time after that. It was a secret he had his entire life to discover.

*

Nezumi was asleep when Shion woke him.

            “Are you awake?” Shion said, prodding Nezumi’s side, and Nezumi mumbled into his pillow and slid away from Shion’s hands.

            “No.”

            “Oh, did I wake you?”

            “Go away.”

            “I can’t fall asleep. Stay up with me,” Shion insisted, and his voice was too close.

            Nezumi opened his eyes to see that Shion had slid onto his pillow. His face was right next to Nezumi’s.

            “You’re crowding me,” Nezumi complained, when Shion’s hands reached out to him, slid around his waist.

            “Why are you so far away?”

            “It’s hot. Let me sleep.”

            “If you’re so hot, take off your clothes,” Shion whispered, and Nezumi pushed him weakly, sleepily.

            “Shion,” he groaned. “What time is it?”

            “Time to get a watch,” Shion said, then giggled.

            Nezumi closed his eyes. “I’m sleeping.”        

            “Stay up with me.”

            “No. Take the cat on a walk.”

            “You can’t walk cats. We don’t even have a leash.”

            “Read a book. Stop bothering me.”

            “I don’t want to read, I want to talk to you.”

            Nezumi opened one eye. Regarded the man with his wide-eyed stare two inches in front of him, and opened his other eye, sighed.

            “What do you want to talk about, Your Majesty?”

            Shion inched closer, slipping one of his legs through Nezumi’s and tightening his arms around Nezumi’s waist.

            “You can choose the topic.”

            “I’m too tired to choose a topic.”

            “Remember when I was your hostage?”

            Nezumi had been falling asleep again, his eyes closing, but they opened again at the words. He scrutinized Shion, who was looking at the end of a clump of Nezumi’s hair that he held.

            “I think you have split ends, I should give you a trim tomorrow.”

            “I remember when you were my hostage,” Nezumi said, and Shion’s eyes slipped up to his.

            “You do?”

            “Obviously.”

            “It was years ago.”

            “I’m aware.”

            “Sometimes I think I made it up. It seems so strange that all of that happened,” Shion said, and Nezumi nodded against his pillow.

            “It does.”

            Shion let go of Nezumi’s hair and slid his palms between his cheek and Nezumi’s pillow so his head was slightly elevated as he looked at Nezumi. “Do you remember after you got shot at the Resistance Force compound, how you were in my bed in my room above the bakery recovering, and I told you about this thing called lima syndrome? You probably don’t remember, you weren’t fully conscious I don’t think, and you must have – ”

            “I remember,” Nezumi interrupted.

            Shion looked at him carefully. “It’s when the person who keeps a hostage develops feelings for the hostage,” he said softly.

            “I remember,” Nezumi repeated.

            Shion bit his lip. Released it. “Did you have that?”

            “Lima syndrome?”

            “Did you have feelings for me when I was your hostage?”

            Nezumi examined Shion. “Why are you asking that?”

            “You said I could pick the topic.”

            “You haven’t been my hostage for, what, over five years? And when you were, it was only for two, three days if that.”

            “I know.”

            “So why are you thinking about that?”

            “I don’t know. You don’t have to answer. It’s okay,” Shion said, freeing his hands from beneath his cheek, reaching out with one and touching Nezumi’s lips, tracing them once before taking his hand back.

            “I don’t know, Shion. I don’t remember. It was a long time ago. That sounds messed up, anyway, to have feelings for a hostage.”

            “I don’t think it’s messed up.”

            “It is,” Nezumi mumbled, curling his fingers around the blanket and pulling it up over his shoulder even though he was hot.

            “You didn’t want me to be your hostage. You never did, Safya made you do it. And you let me go,” Shion argued.

            “Shion – ”

            “I just want you to know – I just want you to know that no matter when you started to love me, it doesn’t make a difference to me. I’m just glad you did. You changed everything for me.”

            Nezumi relaxed his fingers that had been curled tight around the blanket. “I know,” he said quietly.

            Shion reached out again. Tucked Nezumi’s bangs behind his ear, then leaned closer, kissed him like his lips were wind, hardly there and then gone again.

            “I’m sorry I woke you. Let’s go back to sleep,” Shion said. He shuffled back to his side of the bed, rested his head on his own pillow, and was still looking at Nezumi, who waited only a second before he slid over to him, reached out, pulled Shion’s body back to his.

            “Good night, Your Majesty,” Nezumi said, while Shion settled into him, the night hot and Shion’s body hotter, and Nezumi had never imagined he could love the feeling of burning as he did then.

            “See you in the morning,” Shion promised, and Nezumi closed his eyes, couldn’t wait to open them again and see that this man was still beside him, the only place it felt right for him to be.

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! :)


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